Let bonny flags find the ambient breeze. Let the sunshine come with full pride. Let the breeze speak of birthday cake icing and the dogs bounce in helicopter-wag. For when you come, my baby love, when we are together, there is happiness right to my marrow. It is then that my heart beats make sense, for every fourth one is yours. It is your unwritten name, the one long before you were born.

October 14, 2024.

 

Let my love be your quilt, each square a sweet pocket of memory. Let it wrap around you all your days as insulating armour. Let my love be in springtime buds and the petal hues. Let the summer’s heat remind you of our heart-flames. Even in the bare-branched season, when wind howls and sleet pelts, my hug is ever there. So pay no mind to the clock's tick, nor to the flicking calendar, love has full immunity to time.

October 14, 2024.

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My soul rides aboard a paper parasol, eyes wide to the dreaming land. Every vivid hue is where pastel meets neon haze. Into the air I whoop, my lungs singing in anti-thunder boom. Then from my brain comes bubbles of happy rainbow swirl, each of them a snow globe that is to winter quite unknown.

October 16, 2024.

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Your birthday is a motorbike. It runs on wheels of sun-fire. It greets Future's road sensing goodness sowed, ready to cruise with its special load. Its engine runs on self confidence, self worth and self love. Let the other three-six-four be for family and more, but this one is for you. So open the throttle, feel the wind in your hair, to the Heavens you bring a talent-rare.

September 2026.

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There was a happiness to her, not the kind that is loud and obvious, but more as early morning birdsong.

June 6, 2024.

 

Happy arrived on spring day; I felt as if an old friend had come back, and that old friend was me.

April 27, 2023.

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My joy is the bees of May, a-buzz and pollen freckled. My joy is a daisy congregation in happy chatter with the blushed globes of clover. My joy is the velvet ribbons of light that, from docile clouds, thread. Perhaps too, my joy is the world post snow-blizzard, the world of clean page possibilities. Yet my soul, she prefers the warmth you see, the warmth of sunny days. She prefers the kiss of butterflies and the fizz of lemonade. It’s not that I can’t take rough times, nor be a stalwart deepest troubles, but I wasn’t born for the grim gutters of the mind. I wasn’t born to heed the cynics' warbles. No! No! And so as the evening advances, as the street is moon-lit, I will step upon it as a friend of happiness.

May 5, 2025.

 

Tears of joy come as the announcer of the finish line, of a respite that long years told would never be, was impossible, elusive. What was once parched and cracked within, saturates to happiest bursting point. The pain flows out with ease, as if it had quite forgotten how to sting, as if that monster had grown angel wings. Tears come as a merry folksy band, wild, free and bonny. They quench not in timidity, yet as a flood, a cleansing wash. With softest pitter patter they deepen the blues of my jeans as easily as the storm speckles a window pane. Limbs tremble. Lips drenched. Salty sighs break as waves. Better days have at long last come.

September 18, 2025.

 

Beneath an expanse of blue, rose a pathway snug to the meadowland. Birdsong notes danced from the trees, then into stepping stones grew. At first I watched them hover, defying gravity. Then, up them my wildest dreams did leap with me following close behind. Up, up, up! To the disco poet’s loft!

October 14, 2024.

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The iron rose from iron seed, immune to storm, immutable spirit, 'twas a soul born of ferrous furnace. Roots, thorns and petals grew - permanence, ne'er transience, a bloom bold enough to defy callous slew! In darkness, in light, summer's heat or winter's gnawing ice, it stood all the same, unflinching, proud. Ne'er once did it wilt or sway. Ne'er once 'twas it in deficient hearty radiance. If love is a rose, the iron rose is protective love, defence and noble fortitude.

December 13, 2025.

 

This chocolate heart hasn't once melted because the world has been so cold; yet here you come with the warmth of spring and I feel the softening.     

February 26, 2023.

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Ideas, as earth hugged seeds, were ensconced in those brown eyes. She knew it was winter. She knew to content their embryos with a dreaming slumber, restless though they were. For any patient observer, for any heart who cared to see, this was an obviousness beyond dispute. Any spring, any warm and rising sun, would bring the most explosive transformation. My lungs filled to maximum. My pulse sang in accelerated beats. With a soft smile she broke our gaze and, with a skip, did part. I was lost and found. That beginning can’t be our end. Surely destiny and fate are weaving a story of weighty worth.

April 24, 2025

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A soda pop dream fizz-dissapates, flattening even as its sedative lingers. Dream-bubbles tickle as they rise, as they exit, to become anti-wake-bruise magic. Sun’s radiant smile knocks on sleepy lids, on sleepy lips. Breathing and heart up their tempo. Ba-boom. Ba-boom. Mattress-hug beacons to stay, yet the dayshine is gently persistent, rise, rise. Open eyes. Yawn. Embrace the unwritten day.

2024

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Bang! Zap! Ping! My brain ignites to a lightning cloud, an electrical dandelion clock of idea seeds. Cerebral winds rise to twister-hurricanes, seeds fluttering and taking flight. Sleepiness insta-banished. Limbs a-flurry. Dressing fast. Pen and paper. Coffee and soda. Three seconds sober. No need to wait when brain-waves hydrate.

2024

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