Swords sharpened with care
Gather troops and map terrain
Battle clouds approach
Armour clangs and rings
Flags unfurl beneath the sun
March toward dark fate
Mournful thoughts and tears
Pray for wisdom, peace, and hope
To end this war’s curse
Steve Halstead.
Oh, mortals, your arrogance astounds,
As you charge against us head in the clouds,
Blaming us for your own sins,
As if we control your fate, pull your strings.
It vexes me to see how mean,
You creatures of the dollar can be,
Towards us Gods, who watch from afar,
As you navigate life on a dying star.
Your wantonness has led you astray,
From the path of righteousness, we say,
Yet you dare to point your finger,
And accuse us of your own hunger.
Oh mortals, open your eyes,
See the truth just once, be wise,
We are not your masters,
Merely your guides, not your protectors.
Steve Halstead.
In an unmapped wasteland, we stood alone,
Straining time, waiting for our fate to be Known.
The minutes dripped by like sand through our hands,
While we thought of home, not this far-away land.
But time ran out, and we were thrown into a fray,
Against a people who fought like gods on that day.
Our spirits were brave, but our hearts filled with fear,
As we faced our foe, with no hope of retreating near.
Yet, as we battled on, our souls began to stir,
We knew in those moments, who we truly were.
The fire inside us burned brighter than before,
And we fought with all our might, nothing more.
In the end, we emerged victorious, at the cost of much pain,
We knew in our hearts that we could do it all again.
Amid that mismanaged battle, we found,
The strength to rise, and stand our ground.
Steve Halstead,
Was it, not a form of irony to be so mocked by fate?
To dance upon the tightrope of life while stumbling, we anticipate.
With dreams grandiose and spirits ablaze, we strive,
But destiny, oh fickle friend, keeps us enchained and alive.
We watch as hopes and aspirations take flight,
Only to be squandered, lost in the depths of night.
The jesters of our existence, fate’s playful pawns,
For in adversity’s embrace, our true strength is drawn.
Oh, how we yearn for purpose, for a life fulfilled,
Yet fate, that capricious mistress, leaves us so bewildered and chilled.
We chart our path through treacherous terrain,
Yet, in the end, perplexed, we question what we stand to gain.
But fear not, dear soul, for irony has its own allure,
In the jests of fate, we find wisdom pure.
When life’s whimsicality leaves us feeling small,
We learn to rise, stand proud, and give it our all.
So, let the irony flow through every vein,
Let us dance amidst the chaos, in both joy and pain.
For in the paradox of life’s cruel jest,
We find our true selves, and our souls are truly blessed.
Steve Halstead.
Was it, not cruel fate?
Mocked by life’s bitter irony,
My dreams turned to dust.
In harmony’s grasp,
Fate’s laughter knocks me off balance,
I weep, irony.
Mocked by destiny,
Irony etched upon my heart,
A tragic comedy.
Steve Halstead.
I am a plant, once full of life,
But now I am suffocated by strife.
Lack of air and light is all I know,
My roots clipped, my leaves painted with woe.
Once I was young, reaching for the sky,
Now I wither, wondering why.
My breath is shallow, my colour fades,
As I struggle to survive in this dark shade.
The poison seeps into my veins,
As I search for the light that never gains.
I yearn for the sun’s warm embrace,
And a new chance for life to replace.
But in this darkness, I am alone,
Suffering in silence, with no one to condone.
My fate is sealed; my end is near,
As the death slowly draws near.
So please, don’t let me die in vain,
Let my story be a warning to refrain.
From destroying the beauty nature provides,
And let plants like me reach for the skies.
Steve Halstead.
The mask I wear is not my own,
But one of fate and made of stone.
Circumstance has left me here,
Unable to let my true nature appear.
My testament to life is locked away,
Hidden from the world, day by day.
And though I yearn to set it free,
The cloak of misfortune shrouds me.
Until my last breath, I’ll wear this guise,
A disguise that fate did devise.
But still, my nature burns within,
A flame that cannot be dimmed by sin.
Let me live with this burden borne,
Hoping someday my true self will be known.
And until then, I shall endure,
Wearing the mask that fate did ensure.
Steve Halstead.
I’ve learned that life is like a wave
That crashes on a shore
It swells and grows, then breaks away
And leaves us wanting more
I’ve learned that fate is like a wind
That blows us where it will
It takes us up and spins us ’round
And leaves us standing still
I’ve learned that randomness is like a spark
That sets the world ablaze
It jumps and pops, then disappears
And leaves us in a daze
I’ve learned I can’t control what’s random
Or what the fates have in store
But I can face it with a smile
And take my chances, more and more.
Steve Halstead.
One nerve cell spits out a neurotransmitter,
Into the void, it floats and quivers,
It travels far, through space it glides,
Until it lands, where another resides.
That nerve cell feels the effects,
It dances and jumps, with no regrets,
For it has received a message so clear,
A call to action, it can no longer fear.
Through neurons and synapses, it flies,
Electric pulses that light up the skies,
It travels fast, at lightning speed,
A rush of energy, it cannot impede.
It reaches the muscles and the brain,
Imparting wisdom, that we cannot claim,
A movement, a thought, a feeling, alive,
All because one nerve cell took a dive.
So let us cherish, the power it holds,
A messenger of truth, as it unfolds,
For in a single moment, it can change our fate,
A neurotransmitter, we cannot underestimate.
Steve Halstead.
At dawn, she rises, before the sun turns gold,
To greet the news before it can be told.
With steaming coffee and a determined stare,
She pores over stories with a mind so rare.
A deputy editor by name and trade,
A wordsmith with a pen that never fades.
Her touch can turn a phrase into a gem,
A thousand hearts she’s touched with her pen.
With fingers quick and mind so keen,
She weaves facts into tales with meaning.
Her words have driven nations to their fate,
And brought great men of power to the gate.
Her eyes have seen so much of life,
The wars, the good, the bad, the strife.
But still, she writes with passion in her hands,
To stir the people, and wake them for the plan.
From city streets to foreign lands,
The search for stories, to understand.
The power of words, and how they shape
Opinions, facts, and society’s landscape.
Steve Halstead.
The Yorkshire Poet & Friends 