Twenty First Year Manifesto

living, loving, photography, rhymes and rhythm

Twenty First Year Manifesto


Twenty one has been kind to me, here on the earth
And I’ve nurtured a humour with ongoing mirth
There’s been gifting of friendship and travel and love
Such elation at hoop-dance that fits like a glove

But with all of this growth I still need to confess
That my room is a shithole – an artist’s own mess
Here beneath all the piles of papers and pants
Are a few little things that still hold some romance;

Small drawings of anarchic doodles in pen;
A postcard that tells me I need to be zen;
The pink tube of bubbles I stuck in my bra
and promptly forgot about at Mardi Gras

A blue book that tells of the wisdom in words
And man’s greatest treasure in being absurd
I’ve learnt more than ever be honest, be true
But those with closed minds are a task to eschew

To cultivate love in its highest of forms
Needs movement, and stillness, defying thy norms
And pushing the boundaries that bound many years
You defy forceful factors that fracture small fears

For they’d splintered like wood into stagnant sharp states
Where they grew with conditions; for conditions are baits
But, empowered by those who live love with their being
Who resolve, knownst or not, there’s a gift in their seeing

In the thousands they meet and see right to the bone
To the human inside; to the voice, not the phone
Which then begs the question, how know you these friends?
Helen grins and leans back now to tie poem’s ends

With a homage to life, and a thank you to kin
My next of which lie in a heart that’s within
But let’s now make light of my Twenty Two year,
Whilst I love all these wishes; go buy me a beer






Make light of it






Present for dear Vicky

living, loving, rhymes and rhythm


You seem to me a puzzle, and I’ve lost the missing piece

But I can’t accept I’m lacking, so my searching I increase

This I’m sorry for, it’s weakness. I begin to mend my ways

as I focus on the harmony that brings together strays

And I know that I’m demanding, and abrasive, and acute

It’s a reminiscent remnant of the need to be astute

To have weaponry of wording when attacks begin to sail

And you know what I refer to, it’s a certain kind of male

There’s a forceful urge inside me to attain a certain state

Where the challenges of life that should be tackled lie in wait

I am brutal in appraisal of my actions and my mind

Forgetting when I question you I need to be more kind

But Vicky, it’s your birthday, and we will not linger here

The tears I cry this moment have made something very clear

I’ll always seek my family for solace and release

Please enjoy the day, I love you, and my gift to you is peace.




Two sister trees