Uncertainty grips as we enter the cave, just cold earth above like the view from a grave, we go deeper in, and the darkness prevails, with troublesome lighting that too often fails. Deeper and deeper, and colder and wetter, this trip into hell does not get any better. At last the gradient goes upwards a …
A photo of the Atlas Mountains near Agadir, Morocco. I have just returned from two weeks in Morocco. I want to pretend it was for research on a new novel or travel blog. But it wasn't. It was just a holiday with my wife. When I was here, I had a conversation. It wasn't much …
Hidden regions of my mindunexplored, ignored, for fearof what is hiding there.We do not wish to know, to go, to enter or venture into such adventure,whether engraved, depraved, enslaved orlost, or lust, a must that cannot be explored, just deplored, and preferably ignored, bored and left to rot. Help a thirsty author and fund me …
Leaves rustle softly, Wind conducts a whispered score— Trees hum their secrets. Raindrops on petals, Pitter-patter percussion— Earth applauds the shower. Sunset’s golden strings, Birdsong crescendos at dusk— Nature bows, encore. Help a thirsty author and fund me a coffee https://www.buymeacoffee.com/josephiu
How often do you walk or run? In the morning light, beneath the sun, How often do you walk or run? Through fields of green or city streets, With every step, your heart it beats.Do you wander paths unknown, Or tread the trails you've always known? In the quiet dawn or evening's glow, How often …
Pink petals descend,Whispers of springtime’s embrace—Blossoms kiss the breeze Amid morning dew,Sparrow flits with whispered grace—Sky’s secret revealed. Autumn leaves, mottled—Sunlight weaves through ancient oaks,Whispers of time’s touch. Help a thirsty author and fund me a coffee https://www.buymeacoffee.com/josephiu
In the quiet of dawn, when shadows retreat, The world awakens, its canvas incomplete. Mottled hues emerge, a whispered refrain, Nature’s brushstrokes dancing in gentle rain. Bark of ancient trees, weathered and wise, Wears its history proudly, etched in disguise. Mottled like secrets whispered to the breeze, Each scar a testament to resilience and ease. …
The measured lines and rhythmic beats become like mines souring the sweets. So be impressed when poets wrest a timed-beat rhyme © Stephen W. Buchanan 2020 Originally published “If You Haven’t Got A Sonnet” The Sonnet’s Joy I'm re-posting this as Stephen W. Buchanan's poetry amuses me.
Looking back, until these last couple of weeks, I had not written a poem since December 2022. I had been busy writing, but writing books. Books are long and hard, they take time, research, resources and an awful lot of patience. To create a document of around 90,000 words is challenging. It takes a lot …
