Geoff’s poetry

Avalanche! From nowhere Stealth turns to Ambush, The sudden pulse Quickens with Adrenalin rush. The landscape Changes and The rumble grows The snow slab slides, Like a storm Breaking. The wall of snow strikes, Constriction follows, Breathless now Feeling the pressure And weight of snow. That raw coldness Aches through my veins. My struggle for freedom Weakens as important Minutes creep by. Silence .... Where are the others? Out of sight Little light and fading fight! Fearing the worst Feeling cursed? G.P.S Jan 2018 Val D’Isere White out! Icy sleet gave way To raging blizzards as the The shrill town siren Blares out a warning to deter Wavering skiers. Piste machines marshalled On hand .... but Redundant .... guarding Idle chair-lifts Caked in snow. The town now a ghostly shadow Of its former self, as Intermittent snow cannon boom out Reassuringly their Warnings of impending avalanche. Snow ploughs grind their way Up the deserted Main Street Keeping routes open Supplies assured And fears unfounded. The cosiness of the log-burner Persuades and Encourages reading, Card games and conversation... Logs spit while Mobiles lie neglected with On line matters re-charging. The family reunites around the table, And common goal of Passing time and getting to know Each other. G.P.S. Jan 2018 Val D’Isere

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CONGRATULATIONS👏

🏁 Geoff Stockton, UK🏁

and

🇹🇳Myriam Ghezaïl Ben Brahim, Tunisia🇹🇳

They are...

"MTP'S SPOTLIGHT

with Frieda"

🌷🌹🌷🌹🌷🌹🌷🌹🌷

🎈It's such an exquisite collaboration!

Soulmates and best friends, distance doesn't matter. They stay together, forever!

🎈No man is an island

Every individual is one piece of the greater whole,

No isolation, we need connection

No person can do everything by themselves.

Again, Congratulations!

👌Frieda Norma Dela Cruz

💐💐💐

The Poem

🌹"Soulmate”🌹

Am I in love?

or am just in love with the

Idea of being in love?

Given that we often only “get one bite at the cherry”

will I succeed in sharing my feelings

with just one person?

Is that, after all that matters, and enough.?

We are persuaded that

“all the world's a stage”. *2

and that we are but mere “players”

We believe we’ve learned our parts

but often go on to “fluff our lines”

There’s often no autocues to rescue us…

and help our communicating align.

We choose our partners

often quite subjectively, it can

appear something of a lottery.

There’s no real “try before you buy”

You takes your chance by being attracted

by what really is quite superficial

hardly having the time or excuse to ask “why?”

But then you can discover a “soulmate”

that very rare and special relationship

Here, what really matters is much deeper,

more lasting and probably forgiving…

But often a million miles away from those early superficial

“love at first sight” impressions that

can be so deceiving.

The soul mate, that mystery that transcends words,

an echo in the night, a light at the water's edge.

A concept that emerges quietly, soft as a caress,

and turns our days upside down with tender joy.

It's a secret voice that echoes,

a gaze that guesses, even behind the scourge.

when all seems lost, it lights the way,

weaving a thread of hope through our destinies.

It’s not just love that ignites,

It’s the clarity of the mirror that reveals our souls

In her sincere reflection, can be found rest,

A shelter of trust against winds and ghouls.

Sometimes she's so close we can't see her,

Like the air that surrounds us and yet still shapes us.

At other times, it hides in the corner of our smile,

But its essence persists, ready to delight us.

A soul mate is a pact beyond the flesh,

An eternal dance, a chord that’s vibrant and fresh…

It unites two minds in singular vibration,

two souls merged in close communion,

And if our lives go astray, and our bodies separate,

It remains immortal, against all seeming odds.

The soul mate’s , a mystery inscribed in spirit

a fragment of eternity in reunited hearts.

Such a friend will share with you the unadulterated truth

when you request their personal feedback...

"Constructive" but "critical" in how they critique

but it's always honest and supportive.

A soulmate’s purpose is to shake you up,

tear apart and rebuild your ego to some extent,

break your heart open, to let new light can in...

make you responsive to objectivity and revision.

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A certificate that means much and I’m particularly proud of. Thank you so much for the commendation.

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Hay Wood 1- “Woodland Walk in the Rain”

Late summer trees keep their counsel

before the day had properly arrived.

the paths still remember last night’s darkness.

No voices follow me here, nor other familiar dog-walkers

only my Skye nosing the musky “sniffs” beneath the bracken.

Drought has left the earth gasping

its thirst hidden beneath the chaos of cracked roots.

the sky loosens its cumulous cloudiness without warning.

A summer shower seeps through the leaves,

soft enough to be mistaken for a meditative thought.

Sunlight percolates through the canopy,

brewing pungent pools of amber among the mossiness…

each drop awakening a decadent green…

The wood breathes more deeply than before.

Mist gathers in pockets where both warmth and rain meet.

Skye discovers a stagnant watery hollow

and folds herself into it with complete delight…

Mud darkens her coat to the colour of bark…

She looks at me as though she has found treasure.

I laugh, but quietly, so as not to disturb the trees.

The rain passes as suddenly as it arrived.

silence settles back into every fern and branch.

The morning belongs to no one but us.

Privacy hangs like weather beneath the pines

I leave, remembering the stillness long after the wood allows me to go.

“Hay Wood 2- poem revisited”

Morning enters Hay Wood on padded feet.

the drought-hardened paths…

bare their gnarled knuckles.

Ancient bracken rears its shocked leaves with breath held.

even the bird-life rations their dawn chorus.

Then….without warning the weather turns in its slumber

drops of rain arrive but without any associated thunder,

a slow dark shading through the pine-crowned canopy.

The leaves absorb the heavy humidity…

the improving light follows soon after,

percolating through the soaked canopy…

in glowing shafts of light that seem to seep

rather than fall.

The wood loosens its grip.

the Mossy banks swell…

The smell of damp earth rises,

raw as bagged compost freshly opened.

Skye finds a neglected puddle,

stagnant with stillness,

and drops into it with the familiarity of some wild thing

returning to its cosy element.

I watch her assuming the woodland’s colour.

No witness but the trees.

No company but the drips of rain,

the breathing of the woodland glades

and the silence I came here to find.

G.P.S.27th July 2026

Graphics courtesy of Google images or personally owned.

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Siren Soul”

She lingers where the tide folds its marine secrets into stone.

the sea wears her name like a seductive temptation…

Moonlight caresses her skin as though it’s chosen a single altar.

her hair is a storm no sailor ever learns to outrun.

She does not call with words, but with the silence between heartbeats.

even the waves lean closer to hear what she only whispers

The horizon remembers every vessel that surrenders to her song.

not from cruelty, but from the ache of being impossible to resist.

She carries longing like salt impregnated into her skin.

every glance conceals an ocean that has forgotten calmness…

Her smile is a promise wrapped around an unanswered prayer…

her eyes hold the pale wreckage of every dawn she’s survived.

She was fashioned from desire and deep water.

yet her heart lies disturbed beneath a restless tide.

Each broken piece gleams like a forgotten treasure in the darkness…

She gathers none of them, fearing they no longer hang together.

Still, she rises with every evening tide, deceptive, luminous.

she lets the wind undress her every sorrow except the oldest one.

Those who reach for her believe they are chasing beauty but

they never see they are responding to the loneliness within themselves.

She is both sanctuary and storm, embrace and farewell.,,

the sea keeps every confession she cannot bear to sing out loud…

She watches another ship drift toward the edge of forever.

and sings as though romance itself were the most beautiful shipwreck of all.

G.P.S. 29th July 2026

Graphic courtesy of “Soul Kissing” and Google images

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“Vampire Vixen”

She rises from the red sheen of midnight

with hunger embellished across her shoulders.

The memory remembers every body

Who ever trembled beneath her stare.

Her black hair hangs like the vestments ravens

dragged through a pred storm without mercy.

Burning flames flicker across her eyes,

summer suns dying behind winter storms

She advances foxily on silk and menace,

a queen banished from once sacred altars.

Blood stains her skin in meandering rivulets…

each line’s a testament to her appetite.

The lair recoils from her heavy breathing.

candles shrink back on to their wicks

even shadows avoid even touching

the terrible configuration of her smile.

Her fangs are not mere weapons alone;

they are promises whispered callously

She drinks more than blood from mortals.

she draws life’s certainty from their bones.

Around her, desire becomes feral,

stripped of prayer and any civilised tongue…

She is tragedy wrapped up in velvet,

and with every heartbeat the door opens wider.

G.P.S. 29th May 2026

Graphic courtesy of Tumblr Images

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The recent spell of cold frosty weather inspires, with its sun lit glory on my early morning dog walks)

“A Path Scribed in the Snow”

Morning opens her early morning diary

to a path scribed in the snow,

each footstep an imagined personal effort

before any body arrives.

Trees raise their spindly limbs to the sky,

veins dark against the freezing light,

their shadows stretching ever longer

than the day possibly intends.

Blue sparkle settles into the almost tidal drifts,

not real colour but temperature made visible,

The silence was almost tangible,

and held the weight of one’s warming breath.

Barns emerge at the periphery of vision,

In weathered pine that remembers warmer seasons,

roofs bowed under necessary patience,

now muted into a state of endurance.

Nothing moves, yet everything seems to lean curiously forward

light, branches, even the narrow track

as if the winter season

is searching for a busier identity.

G.P.S. 7th January 2026

Graphic courtesy of Tumblr Images.

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