Send me to the river,
I will show you what let go is.
Send me to the ocean,
and I will show you where let go leads.
Send me a flower, and I will show you what love gives.
Send me a plant, and I will show you what love is.
You—
what you are, what you want,
is much more than a metaphor.
A treasure living deep under the ocean
the more you dig, the more you sink in sin.
Only when you are able to see something beyond you,
Lift your head up and look above, under the sky,
And there your eyes meet the tree—
the one that was always there beside you.
While you were searching all in the loop,
the treasure you were truly seeking
was quietly sleeping
in the arms of your neighbour tree
There was once, a clever man called Tim
His abrasive, smelly wife was called Vim,
Her head too big for her boots,
Such a nasty person, who wished some no good,
Tim being so handsome, got all the looks,
Whilst she was looked upon with disdain
Again and again and again and again.
They bought a house in an upbeat snobby area,
Her idea, and next door lived a lady called Sahra.
A cultured person whose background, much like Tim’s
Tim and Sahra got on like a house on fire,
Whilst our know all rude wifey, Vim,
Found her own kind in Sahra’s slobby husband, Skim.
Conveniently they had no children, Tim and Vim,
So got divorced, and then Tim married Sahra,
And now they have a pigeon pair
A girl and a boy,
The boy so young, yet so debonair,
His name is Terra,
The little girl blonde and pretty like Sarah,
Terra’s looks Latino like, just like his dad Tim,
Granny s fav the little girl, whose name is Kim.
Well what happened with the slobs Vim and Skim,
Does anyone care, a true story I wished to share.
The porch light flickers yellow in grey night,
Biting cold seeps in, stiffening my bones,
Soon, a shovel scrapes, screeching in the ice:
My neighbour is clearing a snowy path-
“Need help or lights, fixing the tree?” I ask.
These are not grand gestures, no trumpets blare,
Just quiet hands reaching out in the dark,
A warmth sparkling more than fire in the grate:
This, too, is Christmas love, an act to serve.
Towering weeds out of control
The unkempt garden has completely taken over
Neighbour must finally admit defeat
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
I hate my neighbour and want to kill them.
I imagine their car being squashed by trucks like jam sandwiches. Red crusts.
I daydream that their staircase collapses like factories ready for demolition.
I fantasise they swallow glass instead of coffee and bleach in place of milk.
I conjure images of their flesh peeling like skin from a potato. Sliced in strips.
I sit and listen to their music. I stand and hear their television.
I hate my neighbour and want to kill them.
I see their death, to ease my life.
So, you think that it’s your fence, you think it belongs to you? You can paint it at your whim whatever colour you choose?
But who actually paid for the installation of the timber and concrete posts?
We don’t remember seeing you as the bill was settled with the hosts!
So you think that using rusty nails will stop the cats of the neighbourhood finding a way in? You sure underestimate the wileyness of the average feline who still leave a little ‘parcel’ on your bin!
The volume control disappears after the eighth of ninth gin! You don’t really see what all the neighbours see and hear the profanities of your drunken din!
So you can’t hold a conversation without the next street hearing every word? Do you think that sound travels slower the louder that it’s heard?
You show no respect for anyone living around your house. Don’t expect the doors to open because you’re frightened of a mouse. Don’t expect back breaking sympathy when two feet of snow sit at your door. You reflect your hate on everything when the third of fourth wine bottle has been poured.
Next-door was unemendable
From a fall that incredible
all her grace was shredded cheddar
Covert charm's naked departure
one human coil in porcine bliss
soaking in her own unkind piss
phantom saucers for tea at noon
Prepare the room, tis Lady Loon
Sara beaumont? a k a nichola charles.' hosts a podcast (view
It in your own backyards)or on the couch; in motel on airplane as you go'
Shes one of those neighbours stars? Of tv fame ya know..! Well she's toughed it out, and is really going strong '
Find her on rumble, you-tube; and even patreon' well i won't just keep
Gassing here on soups backyard fence! You can make up your own mind, i don't guess you're that dense? So swing over to Aussie and have a (look see) you can email and suchlike..Just take it from me' this sheila is rock'in with
Stuff from the hole! This is straight through the mirror
Thats been hiding some goals' a word similar to gaol?
Guess it depends on your ed? And like where we get our
Info? Now thats quite enough said.)
htpps://thewhiterabbitpodcast.com
ANGEL OF DEATH
He went to check
up on the cat
tripped over a
crooked vine table
tried to get up
smashed its circular
glass in half
moon shapes
Street silent in
obedience
Angel was waiting in
right hand ceiling corner
said “Look here”
He turned his grey
head neck swirling
eyes like saucers
Angel swiftly drew
outgoing breath
body surrendered
Soul flew into another
Light pod without
a goodbye
Neighbour said
fetch a sheet
a week before
Dad grimaced
“Alles vir Niks”
(All for Nothing)
His wisdom words
he did not fully
comprehend
Angel of Death
knew he was
more than ready
for his Light
pod lessons
He is washing his
hands with his
Mother
©GhairoDanielsPoetry
&Song2025
Who is my neighbour? Asked you, a supposed expert in law
Did he know that testing you is like a Babelian flaw?
Being Christ, you knew well that his faith was like a dry reed.
With a breeze of common man's compassion, you shook his creed.
From Jerusalem to Jericho, a man travelled, you said.
Bandits beat him up, looted his wealth, and left him half-dead
Did the priest, though he witnessed him dying, reach him out? Nay.
The Levite too, though he might have felt pity, went his way.
One who was thought to be, in the social ladder, the least
A Samaritan brought back his life that was almost ceased.
He nursed him as though he was losing his only friend.
Shouldn't, before his love, divisions of caste and creed bend?
This was true love. He's the true neighbour. Go and do the same.
The questioner felt his frail question fail and stood in shame.
That neighbour has just banged his door.
Again yet again and yet again.
I, a one of superior quality, wish to beat
his barking bonce against the wall of his rathole.
But there’d be no grey matter
to dribble down the concrete.
An ugly slimy mush would not be excreted
from that crumbly, crinkly, brainless brainpan.
No brainbox there to squirt the grey stuff!
Oh, what do I experience?
A swirly-whirly precognition of a pleasurable
banging of that brain that isn’t there?
Do I not wish to tear it into shreds?
Funny how feral thoughts burst into one’s mind.
Again yet again and yet again, this superior
wants to beat and bounce that barking bonce.
(17 Sep 2024)
A man to Jericho making his way
was attacked by robbers as if him to slay;
then stealing his gold
and leaving him cold –
half-dead by the road, a scene of dismay.
A Priest was passing. Would he intervene?
Likewise a Levite surveying the scene.
While heaving a sigh
both then passed on by –
to bind up his wounds would make them unclean.
A Samaritan who was struggling along,
showed pity for the man who'd suffered such wrong.
So doing his best
the wounds he did dress,
then took him to an inn, his beast thereon.
“Now which of these proved to be a neighbour
to the one who suffered such a disfavour?”
“He who showed mercy
but none of the clergy.”
“So where there's such need, could you be a saviour?”
Luke 10.25-37
5 in the morning, Why
do you keep at it? Howl-
ing and wail-ing, the wall
cries out in fear as
you press your weight
into it.
Heavy, heaved breaths
as it pulls inwards,
afraid for its cracked fate.
I sit and stare, a loaded
gun
inside the room.
Should I? Why
do I bother.
My door is kicked in
and he stood there,
a picture of red, red
vengeance. El Diablo--
is this a dream? He
is chest-bare,
nothing to hide
his eyes’ hate. I
hear his heart wind up--
inside, Memory tastes his pulse.
The wall creaks and is
curious, rises pridefully
and cowers all at once.
There are no words
to baptize hatred,
not the child I saw
beneath his skin.
It crawled, like a worm,
slithered out his heart
and up up up
into me, the croaking wall
a silent witness
to all. I sit
and stare and sin(g)
a thousand stars' choir of rage.
The clock, it sings
though it never stops
Time, dashes through,
Your very eyes
Yet you never notice it,
Passing by
Everyday goes,
Never comes back
Comes with a new start
Ends with an old tale
My ineffable bottle garden is the best in all the land,
It’s a place of absolute wonder, it’s really rather grand.
Only the most expensive champagne bottles are permitted like Dom Pérignon,
If my bottle garden was the mafia, it would be the Don.
My neighbour is jealous of my bottle garden, in fact he’s rather pernicious,
His passive aggressive comments are nothing short of vicious.
I’ll just ignore and go to my garden, there I’ll drink some wine,
There's nothing’s as grand as watching rainbows glint on bottles in the sunshine.
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