Not Unmoved, But Unbroken

 

Any way the wind blows,
I am learning to stand—
Not rooted in certainty,
But balanced in breath.

Some days it leans me toward hope,
A soft southern warmth
Carrying names I once loved,
Promises half-remembered.

Other days it cuts sharp,
From the north of regret,
Reminding me how easily
Dreams can splinter.

I have chased the wind,
Mistaking its pull for purpose,
Let it hurry my steps
Until I forgot my own pace.

Now I listen.
I feel how it moves through me,
Not to command my direction,
But to test my resolve.

Because I am not the leaf—
I am the branch that bends,
The trunk that creaks but holds,
The quiet strength of staying.

Any way the wind blows,
I remain—
Not unmoved,
But unbroken.

* Meeting Up

 

We could steal time just for one day —
not to escape it,
not to outrun it,
but simply to sit inside it fully awake.

No clocks leaning over our shoulders.
No lists. No headlines.
No small anxieties tapping at the door
like unpaid debts of attention.

Just one unmeasured sunrise.

We would rise early enough
to watch the sky consider its colours,
see how quietly the light
negotiates with the dark.

Breakfast would take as long as it wished.
Tea cooling between stories.
Laughter arriving without checking
what hour it is.

We would walk without destination —
letting roads choose us,
letting fields and streets and sea air
remind us we belong to something unhurried.

Perhaps we would speak of ordinary things:
childhood memories,
hopes that never made it into plans,
the strange miracle of simply being here.

And in the afternoon
we would do nothing heroic —
only rest,
feeling the steady rhythm of breath
as proof enough of purpose.

If a breeze came,
we would let it pass through us.
If silence settled,
we would not disturb it.

When evening gathered its soft blue shawl,
we would not cling.
We would watch the day fold itself
like a well-read page.

Because stealing time
would not be about possession.

It would be about remembering
that time was never truly ours to own —
only to notice,
only to receive.

And when the clocks resumed their patient ticking,
we would return them gently,
carrying one simple understanding:

that a single day,
fully lived,
is more than enough.

* Windswept Reverie

The coast, a breathing thing,

its salt-washed sigh

unfolds in whispers,

where the dunes rise

like quiet sentinels

against the wind’s assault.

 

Grain by grain,

time builds its fragile battlements,

each speck a memory of storms

and receding tides.

The marram grass bends,

not in defeat, but in a dance

older than memory,

its roots digging deep,

clinging to this restless world.

 

Out beyond the foam-lashed rocks,

gulls wheel in their sharp cries,

threading the wild air

as if stitching together

land and sky,

heaven and hunger.

 

Feet sink into the shifting sand—

a giving earth,

a fleeting map of passage.

Here, I trace the ghost of myself,

caught in the riddle

of permanence and drift,

the wind a ceaseless bard

singing what it knows:

that all we hold

is held by something greater,

and all we lose

is carried away.

* Regret is a Funny Old Thing

 

Regret is a funny old thing,

It whispers in the silence of the night,

Reminding us of choices made,

 Of paths not taken, out of sight.

It dances in the shadows,

Of memories long gone by,

A haunting melody of what-ifs,

That makes our spirits sigh.

Regret is a bitter companion,

A ghost that lingers near,

It paints the past in shades of grey,

And fills our hearts with fear.

But in the end, regret is just a teacher,

A guide along life's winding road,

Reminding us to cherish moments,

And to lighten our heavy load.

So let us learn from yesterday,

 And greet tomorrow with a smile,

  For regret may be a funny old thing,

   But it can only stay awhile.

* The Jigsaw

In the corridors of thought, I roam,

A sailor lost, far from home.

Memories, like leaves in autumn's breeze,

Flutter and dance, then take their leave.

Words play hide and seek in my mind,

Some to discover, some to find.

Faces blur in a carnival spin,

But your smile, a lighthouse within.

 

Life's a jigsaw, pieces askew,

Yet each fragment holds a view.

Laughter mingles with a tear,

As time's magic lies, far and near.

 

So, walk with me, let's share the rhyme,

Hand in hand, through ebb and time.

For though my mind may drift away,

In your presence, I’ll always stay.

******

Thankfully I'm not there yet 😌

Ged

* A Young Heart Remembered

  

In the shadows of memory, a love once held,

A young heart's tale, in whispers it's spelled.

Lost in the mists of the bygone years,

A love that once thrived, was drowned in tears.

 

In the echoes of laughter and dreams we'd spun,

Lies the melody of a love, forever undone.

Like a fleeting comet in a vast night's sky,

Our young love burned bright, then I said,

goodbye...

 

But though time has woven its intricate thread,

In the tapestry of my heart, you're not truly dead.

For in every sunset, in the stars above,

I find traces of you, my lost young love.

 

In the depths of my soul, you'll forever reside,

A love that once bloomed, a love that never died.

Though our paths diverged, and we drifted apart,

You'll forever be etched in the canvas of my heart.