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Out Of Reach
I sit on my mobility scooteron Traeth Gele, watching waves roll infrom Liverpool Bay. The wind finds its rhythm—steady, unseen—turning blades on the horizon,white giantsharvesting what can’t be held. Nature,translated into energy. I sit there,watching,listening, as words come flying out of my mouth—too fast, too many—scattering like spray. I reach for them,try to catch each one,but they slip through— and I can’t hold them all. My words tumble and crashlike waves against the shore. They break on rocks I didn’t choose,scatter into pieces I try to gatherwith hands that don’t always dowhat I ask of them. I collect what I can—fragments, edges, almosts—but the picture never comes togetherthe way people…
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Who Gives a Crap?
Author’s note: This one wasn’t planned.It just came out—somewhere between frustration with the world and trying to hold myself together within it.There’s a line in here that’s very real, and a moment I didn’t expect to share—but it felt important to leave it in.Sometimes we carry more than people realise.And sometimes, it only takes a voice from the past to unravel everything. Who gives a crap? Who gives a crap about some orange-tinted “Master Chief”playing war like it’s Halo?Everybody – or so it seems. Who gives a crap about the ongoing battle in Ukraine,still quietly burning in the background?Nobody – the algorithm moved on.Slava Ukraine. Who gives a crap about…
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Status
“What’s on your mind?”Shut up, Facebook.I’m not here to spill my soulinto another scrolling feed. I’m talking about status—not likes, not clicks,but standing in society.It’s not what you know,it’s who you know. Some chase it,some wear it like armour.Once they’ve got it,they don’t care what you think—because they’ve arrived.And we? We’re just the plebs. But what does it buy you?A pedestal, higher than the rest?Snobbery. Foolishness.Lavishness. Loneliness. Status isn’t all it seems.You can hold it in your handand still be hollow—always learning, never teaching. Status whispers:you’re too good for common people now.But you weren’t born into it—you clawed it from power’s grip. Now you stand apart,a black sheep in a…
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Abergele
Amid rolling hills and coastal air, Beneath Gwrych Castle’s watchful stare. Echoes of history in stone so grand, Remembered stories of this land. Gentle waves at Pensarn’s shore, Ebb and flow forevermore. Laughter rings at Manorafon Farm, Embracing nature’s peaceful charm.
