Shades of Evergreen

Though distanced from your grace, your laughter's vivid hue,

Still in my secret heart, a fire’s lit, and it's all for you.

Yet, even as the dark descends, and moonlight takes its toll,

Your smile illuminates the hidden chambers of my soul.

 

What a cruel joke, that fates have drawn their line,

And placed us worlds apart, in different points of time.

Yet in each stolen glance, there's something more I find,

A beauty underneath, the outer attraction of your kind.

 

I see the care you give, the simple joys you share,

The way you make a moment sweet, just by being there.

But, like a moth too close to light, I fear I can't come near,

For what could such as I offer, to one I hold so dear?

 

And so, I hide away, in dim-lit corners where,

The brilliance of your smile can't quite so fully glare.

Yet know that in the dark, a secret fire's alight,

Fanned by your distant grace, it warms my lonely night.

Lysander (Excerpt 2)

The Silent Monks taught him secrets long kept,

Of light’s true essence and where shadows slept.

“Child of prophecy, in these halls, secrets you’ll unlock,

Train among us, become steadfast as the mountain rock.”

 

Marble pillars, tall and proud, bore witness to him strive,

As Lysander’s spirit, among the Silent, came alive.

Under their tutelage, he learned to harness the storm,

Finding strength in silence, and in meditation, form.

 

The pendant, reinvigorated, began to shine bright,

Reflecting his growth, the increasing inner light.

Limericks

There once was a man from Peru,

Who dreamt he was eating his shoe.

He woke with a fright,

In the middle of the night,

To find that his dream had come true.

 

…..

 

A mathematical man, with hair quite neat,

Counted steps of cats and people he’d meet.

On King’s Parade, he’d stand,

With notebook in hand,

Staring hard at each passerby’s feet.

Lysander (Excerpt)

The night was silent, yet radiant and profound,  

As rare celestial bodies in alignment were found.  

Comets streaked, and the auroras danced with glee,  

For a child of legend had come to be.

 

In the kingdom's heart, where rivers met the sea,  

The oracle, with eyes like eternity, began the decree:  

"This child bears a weight, a fate yet unwound,  

To save or to shatter, to heal or to confound."

 

With golden locks, and eyes deep as the night,  

Lysander’s presence was both concern and delight.  

In his laughter, there was the music of the spheres,  

Yet in his silence, the weight of unspoken dark fears.

 

As the kingdom celebrated, shadows began to churn,  

For the wheels of destiny had started to turn. 

 

At the kingdom's edge, where light met obsidian hue,  

Lay the Forbidden Forest, a realm few ever knew.  

Its legends whispered of spirits, ancient and vast,  

Holding tales of the future and echoes of the past.

 

Little Lysander, his heart full of wanderlust,  

Ventured into the woods, with only a child's bright trust.  

Beyond the thorns, the canopy's protective embrace,  

He met an ancient spirit, devoid of time or space.

 

With eyes like the cosmos, and a voice soft as mist,  

The spirit offered a token, impossible to resist:  

A pendant, shimmering, reflecting the spirit's grace,  

Glowing with truth and darkening at a lie's trace.

 

"Little one," it whispered, "you are destined to see,  

The many facets of truth, what is and what might be.  

This pendant shall be your guide, both night and day,  

Illuminating the just path, keeping shadows at bay."

 

Returning home, his adventure no soul did he tell,  

Yet, the pendant's luminescence some could foretell.  

It became his compass, his heart's resolute guide,  

As Lysander grew with destiny by his side.

 

From the eastern lands, where no sunlight would tread,  

The Shadow Warlock, a tyrant of darkness and monsters, led.  

With eyes of ember and a heart forged from cold,  

He sought Lysander for the prophecy he'd been told.

 

His legions, like a storm, surged forth with intent,  

Their shadows blurring the lines where light once went.  

The kingdom, unprepared, could barely resist,  

As night's chilling fingers began to persist.

 

Lysander’s pendant, amidst the bleak, foul air,

Dimmed to a flicker, gasping its final breath of despair.  

Yet within its wearer’s heart, a flame began to grow,  

A courage unyielding, a defiant, fiery glow.

 

The city's walls trembled, its defences nearly breached,  

The hope of its people seemed beyond truth’s reach.  

But as darkness encroached, and all seemed nearly lost,  

A rallying cry was heard, and valour was its thirst.

The Garden

In the garden where our love began to grow,

Amongst the seeds of hope we dared to sow,

The roses bloomed red, as did our desire,

Each petal unfolding, revealing love's fire.

 

Our breathing, nurturing the ground,

In the rhythm of our heartbeats, love was found.

The garden flutters tales of our affection,

In each bloom, it mirrors our reflection.

 

Our breathing, the wind, stirring the chime,

As our love grows, through the annals of time.

Forever rooted, forever we'll grow,

In this sacred place, only we two know.

Bill

With a quill for a sword, a parchment for a steed,

Bill galloped through words at breakneck speed.

He dreamed of fair maidens, of kings, and of fools,

While trying to follow Elizabethan tax rules.

 

In Verona and Venice, he scribed of great tales,

All the while chasing his messenger for mails.

Letters of tax, they came in a swarm,

"Oh, blast these rules!" he howled in a storm.

 

Crying havoc, he let slip the dogs of war,

Spilling ink on his accounts, oh what a chore!

He penned of tempests, of love's labour’s lost,

While grappling with all his Tudor tax costs.

Compassion

Compassion, is the soothing whisper in a troubled ear,

A steady presence when the path's unclear.

 

It's the hand extended when one might fall,

A light that shines down the darkest hall.

Through understanding eyes, it softly peers,

In a warm embrace, it calms our fears.

 

It's the fabric connecting me and you,

A silent promise forever true,

For in each act of compassion we bestow,

We cultivate a world where love can grow.

Talking to the Wall

In a room where silence takes its toll,

I find companionship with an empty wall;

A monologue unbroken, where secrets fall,

The wall, impassive, stands and hears it all.

 

With ears of mortar, eyes of faded paint,

My friend to confide in, without restraint.

No criticism or interruptions it lends,

Just quiet strength on which I can depend.

 

Its surface is cool, yet warmth it does provide,

A stable presence, there for me, by my side;

It shares my laughter, and knows my pain,

In that quiet room, sanity I regain.

The River’s Fork

The river’s fork tore them in two, 

They drifted away, far from heaven’s view,

And now they shiver, by different decree,

On currents returning slowly to the sea.

They meet once more,

The love once severed now finds its shore,

Reunited in the vast, eternal lee,

Two souls once lost, now forever free.

A New Rain Must Fall

A new rain must, as surely as the night,

Fall soft upon the thirsty, waiting earth;

It cleanses all, and sets dreams right,

Giving life and love their birth.

 

In gentle drops, it mingles with the soul,

A symphony that stirs the sleeping leaves,

And in its touch, the broken find console,

A promise that weary eyes can see.

 

In the rain, the dance of nature’s art,

The touch of grace, the celestial song,

Each drop, a verse, a balm for the aching,

A hymn to which our hopes belong.

 

Let it fall, this rain of the pure and free,

In its embrace, find life’s true melody.

Daylit Dreams

In daylit dreams, perceptions dwell,

Where night’s closed eyes never retell.

Cherish the dreamer’s waking muse,

The insights grasped, the visions that confuse,

For those who dream by day with eyes awake,

See truths that night’s confinement cannot mistake.

Let not the night confine your dreaming scope,

In daylit dreams, there lies eternal hope.

Over Silent Rivers

Over silent rivers of the vast expanse,

Where thoughts like comets cross the mind's domain,

We dream of life's ephemeral dance,

Through joy and sorrow, pleasure and in pain.

 

To learn, to love, to lose, then rise again,

In every heart, a universe dwells,

A dance of stars, a cosmic, timeless strain,

Life’s music we, as mortal players, tell.

 

Yet as we play, we mould this cosmic song,

In notes that vibrate with eternity,

In love, we find a place where we belong,

In loss, we comprehend our unity.

 

To rise, to fall, to find our destined way,

Each heart, a story, singing for our new day.

Rusty

In the heart of the city, where steel towers gleamed,

A peculiar tale unfolded, as if dreamed.

A doctor gazed at Rusty’s metallic sheen,

And declared, "You're a robot, not a human being."

 

"That’s impossible!” Rusty exclaimed,

“My skin may be cold, but I'm not tin-veined.

I've feelings, dreams and can sing a song,

Surely, doctor, your diagnosis is wrong!”

 

Then Rusty paused and made a grin,

His eyes did twinkle, his face did spin.

"I am a robot," he finally said,

"But also human," and away he sped.

 

He told his metallic friends, both old and new,

"I've discovered something that's deeply true.

We're more than circuits, gears and light,

We're creatures of dream, love, and might."

 

Some laughed and joked, "Oh Rusty, you're absurd,

You've been talking to the humans, haven't you heard?

They believe in fairy tales and dreams,

Not logic, facts, and reality streams."

 

But Rusty just smiled, and his eyes did glow,

"I am a human," he stated so.

"And being human isn't just a human's right,

It's about feeling love, fear, joy, and plight."

 

With that, Rusty powered down for the day,

Dreaming of humans, in his own robotic way.

He may have been metal, wires and code,

But inside him, a human soul had glowed.

Ego’s Dread

There once was a man with a quest for praise,

Addicted to approval in all its ways.

With each nod and smile, he'd feel alive,

His self-worth measured by praise derived.

 

As time went on, the man began to see,

That his hunger for acceptance was not the key.

The laughter and cheers, though they brought delight,

Couldn't fill the void that he felt each night.

 

Beyond the fleeting highs of others' acclaim,

He sought fulfilment by a different name.

He embarked on a journey to know his soul,

To discover the parts that made him whole.

No longer chained to the world's validation,

He sought inner peace, his true liberation.

 

His need for approval began to subside,

As he nurtured his spirit with the rising tide.

He cherished each day, the highs and the lows,

For life's true beauty, in all its colours, he chose.

 

He found joy in simple moments and art,

In laughter with friends of a genuine heart.

With newfound wisdom, he forged ahead,

No longer a slave to the ego's dread.

Moans

Why is the grass so damn green,

And why is the sky so pristine?

The coffee’s too hot! The weather is not!

This surely is the worst I’ve seen!

 

Cars are too loud, bikes are too fast,

Nothing these days seems to last,

Progress, they say, but I miss the old way,

When things weren’t so overcast.

 

And the clock! Oh, its continuous tick,

The sound enough to make me sick!

It goes on and on, from light to dark,

Can’t someone stop it, quick?

 

But what can I do, but lament,

In complaining I find my content,

For in all of life’s woes, at least it shows,

I’m alive, and that’s time well spent.

Soliloquy

Once upon a meeting dreary, 

There sat Rob, with eyes all sleepy,

“Let's circle back," said he, and leverage our synergy,

To touch base on the issues and action points, presently.

With a paradigm shift, we must align,

And reach for success, oh colleagues of mine.

 

"But don't get siloed," he urged with a stare,

Embrace cross-pollination, show that you care.

With granular details, let's unpack,

Roll up our sleeves, there's no turning back.

"Strike a balance," he croaked, keep an open-door policy,

Cultivate a roadmap, foster transparency.

 

At long last, his soliloquy came to a close,

His words, though banal, in perfect prose.

His colleagues blinked, their minds a hazy sweep,

As Rob, with a satisfied smile, fell fast asleep.

 

The room was silent, save for Rob's snore,

In this theatre of buzzwords, could anyone want more?

Sides

In the realm of reality's playful plot,

Dwelled a master of disguise, a man named Scot.

With a spirit wild, impossible to be caught,

He'd dance between personas, a kaleidoscope of thought:

 

One moment as a poet, turning sour rhymes sweet,

Next, a cranky farmer, complaining of his wheat;

A peaceful Zen monk in the calm of the day,

Then a daring detective in a noire mystery play.

 

But amid the confusion, here’s what’s funny, friend,

Each personality knew they were just pretend!

In the end, we learned, though Scot was quite unique,

He showed us different sides we all, too, subtly speak.

Pigeon

There in a town, not too far, not too close,

Lived a pigeon of fame, with a purpose grandiose.

He'd flap to the office, and to everyone's delight,

He’d drop off memos, from a spectacular height.

 

He'd discuss the stocks, or the economy's state,

While pecking at crumbs - yes, life was great.

He'd attend all the meetings, in the boardroom aloof,

Perched on the chandelier, away from the roof.

 

When the day was over, to the rooftop he'd retire,

Exchanging coos with the town’s night choir.

Sometimes on weekends, for a change of scene,

He'd fly to the park, feathers preened and pristine.

 

With a bagel in beak, he'd stroll around,

The sight of him was joy unbound.

Yet beneath the fame, the work, the glow,

Was a pigeon who loved to take it slow.

 

A lover of sunsets, a connoisseur of seeds,

A friend to all, doing good feathery deeds.

In a tiny nest, made with love and straw,

He'd ponder the world with respectful awe.

Fear’s Old Embrace

Ben jumped at a whisper, and ran from a shout,

A squirrel's scamper would make him freak out.

He’d wince at the bubbles that popped in his soup,

And take a mile’s detour to avoid the hen’s coop.

Sunrise brought panic, sunset brought dread,

He even had nightmares when safely in bed.

But amidst all this panic, one thing held true,

Ben’s spirit was kind, his heart was true.

Even though hidden, in fear’s old embrace,

He offered to all, a kind, smiling face.

Peru

There was an old man from Peru,

Whose limericks stopped at line two.