Blog, Halloween, Poetry, Writing

Into the surreal sunrise… πŸŒ„

Photo by Spiral White

To all my readers I wish a Happy Halloween! πŸŽƒ I hope you enjoy my poem.

Into the surreal sunrise


Behind me 

A whispering 



Calls out…

I gulp 

Look around

And find



I’m walking 


A deserted 


It’s eerie 




As I walk


I notice

A speck 

Of light


The distance,


The sky 

Lights up

Vibrant colours










Pure Sunlight 


Poem by Spiral White

Autumn, Blog, Poetry

Changing Seasons #Autumn πŸ‚

Photo by Pixabay on

As the nights draw in summer is fading away and the cool Autumn days are here.  I was inspired by John Keats poem To Autumn which I posted last week for national poetry day.  For this week’s post, I’ve written a poem based on the autumn season.

Is it Autumn?


The chill

Of the wind

Blows strongly 


I’m wrapped up 

Warm and cosy


I see 

A gold carpet

Leaves twirling 


Subtle tints glinting 

In subdued sunlight 


Wild fruits 

Show vibrant hues

A stags 


Cuts in through 

Hazy morning mist 


Forest fungi 

Begin slowly unfurling

Migrating birds


Through cool air

Flying far away


It’s definitely 



By Spiral White 


Today is #NationalPoetryDay

Photo by David Bartus on

I’ve chosen to #ShareAPoem by John Keats called To Autumn or Ode to Autumn.
Autumn is one of my favourite seasons and Keats poem really captures the essence of the season in his famous first line.

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness

Keats wrote it in September over 200 years ago when he was taking a walk in Winchester. It’s reflective tone is something I can relate to.  His vision is moving; especially if you consider that he was just 23 years old and never saw Autumn again in England as he moved away to Rome and died shortly after from tuberculosis.

To Autumn

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers;
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too –
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

If your interested in reading more about John Keats and his other poems, take a look at the Poetry Archive website

Blog, Poetry, Time, Writing

The Passing of Time

black and white photo of clocks

Photo by Amar Saleem on

When I saw this photo it gave me a flash of inspiration. A mass of clocks all ticking at the same time. I think, as you grow older time seems to fly by; you sometimes find yourself wondering where the time goes…


The Passing of Time


Tick, tock, tick, tock

Faster and faster

Time flies by

In days

Then months

Into years….


My head’s spinning

Where are we going?

Falling, further

And further…

Β *****

It’s another new day

A baby cries

Longing for its milk

Placated by it’s bottle


Morning chorus singing

As a child murmurs

Teddy dangling from its hand

Questioning, all the time


Noonday sun shines bright

A school child plays

Dreaming of home time

But has no answers


In the heat of the afternoon

A teenager fashionista

Self consciously

Struggles to understand


In the fading sun

An adult works hard

Earning a daily living

Hoping to achieve


Darkness surrounds us now

As an old person reads

Looking for inspiration

What is it all for?

Β *****

The tick, tock, tick, tock

Is it even faster and faster still….

Sadly, time

Slows for no one.

Poem by Nick