Rewriting Reality, One Moment At A Time.

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Unleash the unstoppable force of time manipulation with TemporalMorph. Upgrade your life today and witness the true potential of the fourth dimension. Remember, life may be unpredictable, but with TemporalMorph, you hold the pen of destiny in your hands.

TemporalMorph: Rewriting reality, one moment at a time.

Steve Halstead.

Playthings Of The Gods.

Playthings of the gods,
Once, we danced at their whims,
Lost to their desires.

Toys we then became,
Others claimed divine power,
Controlled our movements.

No progress we made,
Trapped in an endless cycle,
Gilded but tethered.

Steve Halstead.

Old Prints And The Architecture Of Bradford (A True Story)

In her attic, there lay a box of memories,
A treasure trove of moments frozen in time,
Photographs of days gone by, of smiling faces,
Old churches whose bells still chime in my mind.

As I sifted through this box of treasures,
I stumbled upon prints of Bradford’s architecture,
A city stoic and proud, with buildings tall and grand,
A testament to its history, these buildings still stand.

And as I gazed upon these structures,
My heart ached with both joy and sorrow,
Though these buildings stood so tall and mighty,
I knew they were in the shadow of tomorrow.

Mum’s passing taught me this,
That life is but a fleeting moment in time,
And all that we hold dear, all that we cherish,
Can be lost in a blink or a rhyme.

So as I looked at those old prints of Bradford,
I felt a sense of awe and humility,
They reminded me of the power of memories,
And the importance of cherishing them with dignity.

And though Mum may be gone, her memory remains,
Preserved forever in those old prints and photographs,
A legacy of love that will always remain,
A beacon of light in the shadows of the past.

Steve Halstead.

Shepperd.

Thin and strong, a prodigy of slow endurance,
Stands tall amidst the fields of green,
Incapable of mercurial flight,
Unlike any of his goats, he dares to dream.

With bulging muscles and a sinewy frame,
He ploughs the earth with honest toil,
A master of his land and beasts,
His spirit is unbreakable and loyal.

His eyes are deep, his face is lined,
A life of struggle etched in stone,
But from his brow, light does shine,
Of rugged beauty all his own.

He’s a man of steadfast heart,
A warrior of the earthly plane,
And though he’s tethered to the ground,
His spirit soars beyond the plain.

So here’s to the thin and strong,
The ones whose power lies within,
May we all find such mighty grace,
As we journey through this life of sin.

Steve Halstead.

Neurons and Synapses.

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.

Self-Reflection.

In the depths of my soul, I search.
Through the twists and turns of my mind,
I find myself on a journey,
To discover what I left behind.

Some may call it self-reflection,
A path to personal growth,
While others see an early crisis,
A quest for something both old and new.

Each step I take brings me closer,
To the person I’ve become,
As I peel back the layers,
And embrace all that I have done.

It’s in the shadows of my past,
And the light of my present truth,
That I find the courage to face,
All the fears of my youth.

So I walk this path with purpose,
As I strive to understand,
The mysteries of my being,
And the power in my own hands.

It’s through this act of reflection,
That I find the strength to grow,
And discover the beauty that lies,
In the depths of my soul.

Steve Halstead.

A Wordsmith By Trade.

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.

Steam.

The steam engines’ mighty roar,
Stealing through the hills and moors,
A symbol of power and industry,
The Victorian dream of efficiency.

Yet now, their reign has come to an end,
Their once-mighty power is on the wane.
The world moves on, the future arrives,
And the steam engine’s legacy remains.

But oh, how it played its part,
The throbbing heart of a grand design,
A time when progress was the theme,
And innovation held the key.

The demise of steam is bittersweet,
A sadness tinged with a hint of awe.
The Victorian dream lives on,
And we’re better for what went before.

Steve Halstead.

Mindful Contemplation.

Mindful contemplation, a journey within
Where silence reigns and worries dim
A sacred space beyond the noise
Where peace and stillness are our choices

In this space, we breathe and feel
The rhythms of our hearts reveal
The power of our inner voice
That echoes through with gentle poise

Here, we find the light of our soul
And let it guide us towards our goal
To live and love with pure intention
And seek a life of grace and transcendence

With mindful contemplation, we see
The beauty of life and all it can be
And in the depths of our being, we find
A world of wonder that leaves us unconfined.

Steve Halstead.

The Poet, The Actor And The Microphone.

The poet, the actor, and the microphone,
Are three in one, like a trinity alone.
Each with its power to move and inspire,
To fill the hearts of the audience with fire.

The poet speaks with words that flow,
Like honey from the hive, sweet and slow.
Each verse is a journey through the soul,
Of the poet’s heart, once lost but whole.

The actor brings the words to life,
With gestures, voice, and piercing strife.
The stage was alive, the audience enthralled,
A moment in time, forever to be recalled.

And then there’s the microphone, the silent star,
Through which the poet and actor shine afar.
The magic box amplifies their voice,
A connection to the world, a reason to rejoice.

Together they create a symphony of art,
A performance that moves the body and heart.
The poet, the actor, and the microphone,
May they forever be a trinity alone.

Steve Halstead.