The River carries words softly,
her rhythm, my cadence,
her flow, my home.
I drift where the stars fall,
their light a map I cannot follow—
only feel.
Deeper now, the River’s current hums.
The Poet has run out of lines—
their ink dissolving into the tide.
Her banks disappear,
leaving only sky and salt,
an estuary too wide to hold.
The River’s lifeblood carries me,
not to drown—but to bear
my weary soul onward—
where breath becomes wind,
and the words to render
never really end.
?? Written by Aamir
?? Written by Patricia
?? In search of mighty elixir
I roam
across the streets intoxicated,
destroyed I whirl,
destroyed I whirl.
?? In church,
I lurched forward to the altar for the lofty sagacity.
A dome,
a gnome without name behind the tome,
abruptly a dove perched over its birch,
giving the stained smirch,
deployed, I twirl,
devoured, I swirl.
Estuary
the strong tide greets the sheltered stream
where life's hereafter dares to dream
a place where screeching, circling birds
fall silent to breath’s final words
where memories once formed on land
are carried by the shifting sand
to where the river meets the sea
and on then to eternity.
Aqueduct
where ten arches span time across the Ceiriog Valley
sheep lie in green pastures beneath a Welsh / English sky
as narrowboats above steer the canal of Llangollen
through shadows of high summer’s still quiet waters by.
On the outer edge of Kemble
there’s a stone upon the green
where a spring becomes a trickle in a pond.
It seeps and then it flows
under bridges as a stream
towards the narrowboats of Lechlade and beyond.
There is peace and so much beauty
from The Isis* to The Thames
winding dreams around the spires along its course.
It flows on through The Tideway
'til its journey finally ends
at The North Sea many miles from its source.
* The Isis is an alternative name given to the River Thames from its source in the Cotswolds until it is joined by The Thame (a Thames tributary) at Dorchester in Oxfordshire - after which it is more generally referred to as The Thames.
In an octopus's garden withyou
As thewords trailed offand I left the building
I found myself thinking of Anthony
Then Isstarted to run to thetaxi rank
My heart in mymouth
I remember someone saying if youever think ofhim
youshould get out quick.
Ihailed a taxi got in and said elephant please
as we pulled out ilooked inhis mirror
And saw fire.
Tidal flats reveal their light grey heads
They replacing green-grey sea in dots and dashes on the horizon,
They toy cheekily with the extracted tide, enjoying their dry sun bathing
An island of ginger sand, void of seabirds, spoils the sea-mud horizon
The tide stands poised, ready for its return journey
Precursory quibbles, sent to shore, make birds at float bob
An easily missed, brief localised splash tells of a tern diving
Orphaned seaweed florets appear to move while submerged in the shallow water
Boats confused and beached on the mud, leaning towards their angle of choice
Paddlers explore the shoreline and water up to the ankle
Crystal white flickers from the water as the sun is reflected from the rippling sea
The tide returns stealthily and punctually, floating stranded boats and refreshing the sunburnt mud
Everyday.
The
moon
rises
in
the
blood
soaked
sky.
Everyway.
I
am
bleeding
just
for
a
butterfly
not
to
die.
Someday.
I
will
be
free.
Someway.
You
will
see.
I
am
not
me.
I
am
rooted
shallow
in
the
shade
of
a
dead
tree.
Faint
voices
bark
in
my
head.
I
heard
what
was
said.
I
never
listen.
I
am
blind
by
visions.
Echoes
from
a
call.
Darkness
stands
tall.
Where
my
light
refuse
to
shine.
Where
shadows
hands
me
my
time.
I
age
by
the
breath
I
take.
I
am
caged
by
my
hate.
What
I
lost
in
one
life.
Can
never
be
found.
Not
even
when
angels
clash
with
my
sound.
My
screams
runs
rivers
into
tears.
My
dreams
are
flowing
into
the
Estuary
Of
Fears.
The sun poured upon us
and created a beautiful estuary
in the marine infinity
of our soul.