The Earth spins round, with poles aligned, But magnetic north is hard to find, It shifts and sways, it doesn’t stay, A restless wanderer, night and day.
Deep below, the molten flow, Of iron churns, a fiery glow, It stirs the field, with unseen might, And nudges north, just out of sight.
From pole to pole, it drifts each year, A moving target, never clear. Secular change, both slow and grand, Reshapes the compass in your hand.
Beneath the ground, a hidden hoard, Of iron veins, or magma stored, Can skew the needle left or right, A local trick, a puzzling sight.
And far above, the sun may flare, Its storms can twist the magnetic air, A brief disturbance, fierce and bright, That fades again with fading light.
So when you roam, or sail the sea, True north may not where you will be. For in this world, both bold and grand, Magnetic north slips through your hand.
When the world seems lost in madness, yet you stand firm, Hold fast to truth, and let not your spirit squirm. When those around you falter, led by blind decree, Keep your mind sharp, and let your conscience be free.
If your heart grows weary in a world gone astray, Remember the wisdom of simpler days. Trust in your judgement, though the masses jeer, For courage is born when you conquer your fear.
In times of darkness, when hope feels thin, Seek out the cracks for they let the light in. Do not be swayed by the loudest of cries, For often truth whispers and deception lies.
As the world clamours for division and blame, Rise above hatred, and do not play their game. Seek knowledge, for wisdom is your greatest arm, And with grace, protect your soul from harm.
Beware of those who preach doom and despair, For not all who shout warnings are just or fair. But respect the Earth and the skies above, For in them lies balance, beauty, and love.
If ever you find the world too cold, Remember the warmth of stories told. Of ships that sailed and hearts that dared, Of a world where courage and hope were shared.
Hold your head high when challenges appear, Face them with resolve, but never with fear. And when you’re alone, forging your path, Know that you’re walking in the steps of the past.
Cherish your freedom, though it may feel slight, For it’s the beacon in the darkest night. And when the world tempts you to follow or flee, Stand firm, stay true, and let your soul be free.
In the end, it’s not the world that defines you, But the choices you make and the love that binds you. So walk with honour, and live with grace, For in your heart lies the future’s face.
In the land where the sun rarely shines, A steely-faced knight gives stern lines. Sir Keir of Starmer, born without cheer, His lectures make holidays disappear.
“Be serious!” he cries, as we sit and we yawn, His jokes are as lively as a damp, misty dawn. But fear not, dear Britons, satire’s not dead, For this government’s gaffes keep the humour well-fed.
The Tories before were a fine running joke, From Liz Truss’s delusions to Boris’s cloak. But Labour’s new ministers, oh what a treat! They puff up with pride and trip over their feet.
Caught in a muddle with cash and a pass, Sir Keir plays the part of the man with no sass. “The doors are now open!” he proudly declares, But only, it seems, if your wallet’s prepared.
The garden’s reclaimed, from parties and cheer, Though Alli’s own shindig was just held right here. Larry the Cat now serves us with pride, While Starmer attempts to keep cronies outside.
His problem, you see, is his righteous air, A halo that slips as the truth grows bare. Critics arise, but Keir cannot see, Why the nation is laughing at his morality.
Reporters with questions, how dare they inquire? “This cronyism’s rubbish!” he snorts, full of ire. For in his pure heart, how could he be wrong? It’s the Tories to blame, we’ve heard all along.
But now, as the British public observes, This knight of no humour is testing our nerves. With pomp and with priss, his speeches unfold, But his charm, I’m afraid, is already old.
So here’s to the future, as bright as it seems, With Sir Keir’s dull lectures and lofty dreams. The public may tire, but satirists cheer, For in this new era, the joke’s crystal clear.
In the cradle of harbour lights, where stars once kissed the sea, Royce and Layla whispered dreams, of lands where hearts run free. In Hong Kong’s shadowed alleyways, where whispers grow in fear, They felt the tightening of the chains, the darkness drawing near.
With Julia in their arms, a beacon of pure light, They sought a sky where liberty could breathe in endless flight. The land of their birth, with memories that cling, Became a place where silence ruled, and truth could no longer sing.
So to the misted shores of Britain’s isle, they dared to tread, A land where hope still danced, though shadows overhead. But fate, unkind and resolute, forced Layla to remain, In the city that now felt more like a gilded, rusted chain.
Royce in London, with Julia by his side, On modest means, he laboured hard, his dreams he could not hide. Their daughter, brilliant as the dawn, embraced her world anew, Her mind a garden blooming fast, in every shade and hue.
Layla’s visits, tender gifts, in moments short but sweet, Reminders of a love that crossed the miles, in every heartbeat. And once a year, young Julia flies, back to her mother’s arms, To feel the warmth of family, despite the world’s alarms.
In every tear at every gate, in every long goodbye, There’s a strength that fuels their hope, a love that will not die. Though politics may shift and shake the ground on which they stand, Their faith in each other, stronger still, a bond that’s ever grand.
For Julia’s eyes reflect the stars of all that they have faced, A daughter forged in fire, in a world where dreams are chased. Royce and Layla, brave and true, with every step they take, Build a life where love endures, for Julia’s future’s sake.
And though the winds of change may blow, in Britain’s ancient land, They stand as one, a family bound by love’s unwavering hand. In every challenge, every storm, their spirits rise above, For in their hearts, they carry forth the liberty they love.
So praise to them, this family bold, who left all they had known, To plant the seeds of freedom, in a world that’s yet to be grown. And praise to Julia, bright and fierce, a child of strength and grace, Who walks the path her parents paved, with courage in her face.
May their love forever guide them, through every trial and test, For in the face of tyranny, they chose to seek the best. And though the road is rugged, and their hearts sometimes ache, They carry on, united still, for their beloved daughter’s sake.
In the heart of the NHS maze, Where bureaucrats spend their days, Sifting through my words with zeal, Oh, what a farcical ordeal!
A mountain of memos, what a delight, To shut me down, they write and write. “Do they not have better things to do?” I muse aloud, it’s quite the view.
Once I dubbed them “commie’s last stand,” And since then, I’ve been banned. Lockdown came, I voiced my doubt, Another pin, they poked and pouted.
A dissident, in their holy eyes, Against their sacred NHS skies. Spy on me, if you must, I’m game, But on public cash, oh, what a shame!
Astounding, a dossier soon to be, For this post, just wait and see. Fifty years in medicine, what a ride, Chief of WHO, I’ve been worldwide.
Hundreds of centres, thousands treated, Yet my opinion’s often unheeded. If politicians want to sort this out, NHS leaders must face a rout.
A big platform, my voice rings loud, But what of the silent, unallowed? In this toxic culture, voices choke, The NHS reforms, no joke.
Suffocated debate, we’ve seen the end, Fatal consequences, round the bend. A mess it is, from start to core, Listen up, NHS, it can’t get worse, I swore!
In the year of our Lord, twenty twenty-four, A warm respite doth bless this summer’s shore, For winter’s grip did hold till June’s refrain, Yet now the sun bestows her light again.
I sit in London’s West End, where the chic convene, Where al fresco coffee and tattooed throngs are seen. The cityscape a curious sight to behold, As I, a poet of the past, see tales unfold.
Ah, what strange visage greets my nineteenth-century eye, Boarded shops and beggars where commerce did lie. In doorways dark, where merchants once held sway, Now souls forlorn in shadows softly pray.
The street’s alive with drinkers, carefree and loud, Amidst a throng, a bustling, diverse crowd. Amplified buskers fill the air with tune, Yet the stench of weed doth mar the afternoon.
Chuggers, they accost with fervent plea, Cyclists and couriers, ignoring each decree, They weave through chaos, heedless of the throng, In this modern dance, a city’s dissonant song.
Killer dogs, they roam with leash held loose, Sweary students, youthful, with abandon let loose. ‘Tis a cacophony of life in varied hue, Yet beneath, an undercurrent, a world askew.
I sip my coffee, in this era estranged, Wondering how society’s mores have changed. The beauty of the day, so rare and bright, Contrasts starkly with the city’s plight.
Oh, England, in your first beautiful day, What stories your streets and alleys convey. A poet’s heart doth ache and yet adore, This modern world so altered, yet so much more.
Resplendent in her Neapolitan crown, Joanna reigned, both beauty and renown. A queen of arts, of wit, of regal grace, Yet shadows lurked behind her lovely face.
Golden tresses framed a mind so keen, But whispers spoke of deeds obscene. Her husband’s blood, they say, stained her hand, A crimson secret in a sun-soaked land.
Oh Joanna, fairest flower of the south, Sweet words of culture graced your mouth. But venom, too, dripped from your tongue, As princes fell and kingdoms swung.
Accomplished, yes, in politics and prose, You played men’s hearts like virtuosos. But in your wake, a trail of tears, Of broken vows and mortal fears.
History paints you cruel and cold, Your beauty tarnished, your legend bold. Were you victim or villain, pawn or queen? The truth lies buried, forever unseen.
Joanna of Naples, enigma divine, Your thorns still prick across all time. A rose of passion, of power, of pain, Your petals scattered o’er your domain.
In a photograph, the child stands still, Born in a time when hope was a thrill, His mother’s love, tender and bright, Extinguished too soon, stolen by night.
At six, he learned what loss truly meant, Her eyes closed forever, her life was spent. Two brothers by his side, they grew in the shade, Of a world preparing for war’s cruel trade.
The drums of 1914 called them to fight, Three boys now men, their destination blight. He fell in 1917, in mud and despair, His dreams buried there, beneath death’s stare.
The photograph fades, the memory thins, A boy, a mother, a war that wins. Yet in that still image, their echoes remain, A story of love, of loss, of pain.
My love has got no money, he’s got his charm, A carbuncle on his nose, no cause for alarm. He’s ugly but funny, with a wit so bright, His jokes and his laughter lights up the night.
His clothes are quite shabby, his pockets are bare, But he struts with a swagger that’s beyond compare. His smile is crooked, his teeth are askew, Yet there’s something magnetic in everything he’ll do.
The townfolk adore him, they enjoy a chat when he’s near, His presence brings joy, dispelling all fear. He dances in the square with the grace of a clown, Turning frowns into giggles, and tears upside down.
He may lack a fortune, a mansion, a car, But with him by my side, I feel like a star. For love isn’t gold, or jewels, or a yacht, It’s the warmth of his hand, and the love that we’ve got.
So here’s to my darling, with his nose all askew, To his heart full of laughter, to a love that is true. For in his funny face, and his bumbling ways, I find my forever, my nights and my days.
Baby, don’t hurt me, don’t quack and run, I’m a duck in love, and you’re the one. I waddle up with feathers so fine, But you, dear hedgehog, with spines that shine.
I swim in ponds, and you roam the ground, Yet in my heart, your love I’ve found. You curl up tight when danger is near, While I spread my wings without any fear.
Oh, hedgehog, sweet prickly delight, Together we’ll soar, from morning till night. You might be spiky, and I might be quacky, But our love, dear friend, is never tacky.
So, baby, don’t hurt me, embrace our fate, A duck and a hedgehog on a quirky date. We’ll laugh and play, in fields and streams, For love knows no bounds, not even in dreams.
Verbal Alchemy 