My memories are a museum now.
I am looking at exhibits — artefacts of the past.
Sometimes there is an air of regret, sometimes joy.
My memories are a museum now.
Tag: the boy behind the glasses
This Journey – Written June 2025 (Aged 50)
This career has been harder than it should have ever been, or needed to.
This life has been harder than I thought it would ever be.
I married her once, and then it went away.
Jam – Written Monday 2nd June 2025 (Aged 50)
He promises free jam, but the jam never arrives.
People believe; they think he’s right, convinced that they understand.
Tomorrow comes, and there is no free jam.
And no matter what happens, people fail to learn.
Bumper Cars – Written May 2025 (Aged 50)
I start again.
But there is a pattern in our lives —
when the hopscotch is high
and the skipping has only just begun.
What Became Of Those People – Written Tuesday 27th May 2025 (Aged 50)
I wonder what happened to —
became of —
those people
who crossed my path.
The Chapters Upon My Back – Written Tuesday 27th May 2025 (Aged 50)
Life has told
a tale or two.
I feel now
much older than I ever have.
Creases and Folds – Written Monday 19th May 2025 (Aged 50)
Everything becomes old.
Time itself
has upon its being
creases and folds.
What Became of Hope – Written Thursday 8th May 2025 (Aged 50)
What became of hope?
Did it fall over?
Fall out?
Has it taken cover?
Swirls – Written Thursday 1st May 2025 (Aged 50)
I don’t want to be caught up in the swirls of opinion, lost in praise and its hollow sound.
Scuff Marks – Written Monday 28th April 2025 (Aged 50)
Scuff marks. No lasting damage, but the scuff will remain.
The Boy Behind The Glasses. Poetry and Writing 