When thoughts change

Sand never looks the same as
wind and tides fashion
one shape after another with
endless repetition across
time’s moving face.

Sleepless nights are the worst
treading water in never-ending darkness
as shadows
(of the haunting kind)
chase this busy mind around inside
its heated space.

I have learned now
to listen to my soul-speak
and in that blessed sound to
share its unwavering connection
with the infinite divine.

Nothing stays the same
except the cosmic silence.

Life is change
…a non-stop happening
and we all must change or
we will stagnate, wilt and die.

You changed into beautiful light
I lost my heart
and found myself instead.


I have faith in these
because love

Love changes everything.


© Daydreamertoo   *All rights reserved

Shared with With Real Toads Ella’s Post Prompt #Epistle

A Language of its Own

Sometimes sadness simply
But, it isn’t mine
isn’t yours

just a feeling that sweeps
with ease across
my souls earthly vibration.

Even though I fall
…I rise
Having learned another lesson
stand in awe of all the living
colours my eyes had failed
to see when open.

A backward glance once left me
in love among the stars and moon
where secrets of our hearts poured forth
without the need of omission.

inner battles raged, fought
and won

I find my serene
in quiet times
of splendid isolation where
silence speaks a language
of its own.


© Daydreamertoo      *All rights reserved

Shared with Three Word Wednesday CCLV111
Poetry Pantry #66

Whisper of Wings

 Dispelling rain clouds
I close my eyes unto
the end of the world

Warmed in sunshine
wrapped in Earth’s embrace
I yield ego in grace
to learn
truths of the heart.

Somewhere in time
attuned to wisdom
safe to let go of love

I soared

as gifts from Angels
saw freedom in
dance of butterflies

Witnessed new birth
and shared a soul connection

We are unique creations of
infinite divinity

each secret revealed

in a cosmic

Whisper of wings.


© Daydreamertoo         *All rights reserved

Shared with dVerse Poets Openlinknight #9
Poetry Pantry #66

Which way is Up

Over and over
seeking respite
I lose myself to music and
comforting blanket of night.


more than once life turned itself
upside down
was it me who fell and didn’t know then
which way was up

It doesn’t matter now

Life moves in gentle ripples
and clouds trickle by in sluggish moves
across an Autumn sky
where questions hold their own
peculiar answer.

Your beauty shines its light
on those lives you don’t
even know you touch
…yet do.

Perfume still fills the air
electrifying senses of those who’d dare
to reach for the moon
knowing if they miss
they’ll still go onto higher love
that in those quiet wonders
it’s all there.

© Daydreamertoo    *All rights reserved

Shared withPoetry Picnic Week #4
dVerse Poets Openlinknight(tomorrow)


Henry Cele as Shaka










First light arrived. Soon these hours come to pass would be the last now for many, if not all. Pockets of men snored. Some chatted quietly amidst the rubble and stacks of other things they’d used to build new barricades from crumbled walls. Much fewer in numbers after the wounds and loss of yesterdays all-day melee. Seemingly not urgent the young Lieutenant shook his comrade’s shoulder gently. But still, it woke him with a jolt and, rubbing tired eyes, he gulped at what he then saw, too.
Across the tops of every hill surrounding, they stood. So tall and not one, but in their hundreds. Intimidating. Bodies glistened, gleaming in their bold near-naked presence. At the early morning sun all had begun silent then, the noise came with the lowest of hum then, some warriors cut their lines, ran out, began beating on their animal skin shields and others scrape their spears into the air in these, their opening peacock strutted dares. These simple acts were just the prelude to the coming slaughter. The hum became a roaring of threats and other promised deeds and to drown them out, defiant, the soldiers held their dignity. Sang Men of Harlech, knowing each had made their peace and were readied now to do or die beneath the Zulu Dawn.

© Daydreamertoo *All rightsreserved
In January 1879 fewer than 150 British soldiers, of whom almost a quarter were invalids before the fighting even started, defended a postage-stamp of land against 4,500 Zulu warriors.
This historic battle was made into a very colourful movie in 1964 starring Michael Caine, Stanley Baker and Jack Hawkins. It ends with a narration by Richard Burton, listing the defenders who all received the Victoria Cross. Eleven were awarded for the actual fighting at Rorke’s Drift, the most ever for a regiment in a single battle in British military history.
Although he wasn’t a part of this battle I’ve included a short video which is well worth watching to see the power of the Zulu warrior’s fitness and physique, the song is great too. One of the most famous of all Zulu warriors and best known is: Shaka. Such was his fame that in 1986 they made a TV series of his life Starring Henry Cele.
Here’s a couple of links if you wish to read more about the battle and amazing warriors:

Shared with The Sunday whirl Wordle #21
Gooseberry Garden Poetry Picnic Time

My piece for 9/11 memoriam was posted yesterday Teach the Children

Teach the Children

When I look into your eyes
tears pool
Smoke, screams, panic, sirens, collapse, ash of lives crushed, turned to instant dust. Watching everything in  disbelief. Had the world flipped its fragile lid, finally gone crazy. Time will not replace those souls gone, but not forgotten. The Angels who suddenly became everyday heros saving strangers who needed help because, they couldn’t help themselves. It’s simply what love of fellow mankind does.
Mother, may I ask you or father, teach the children well. Let them see through your eyes that hate destroys the heart which feeds it. Love is really all they need.
I am by no means a pacifist. Proudly served my country.  Had army collegues and friends killed and wounded while living under the constant pub bombs and other terrorism from the IRA. The Grand Hotel where 5 cabinet members lost their lives and countless more were seriously injured in Brighton was my home town. Now they have not just the IRA but muslim extremist fanatics to contend with too. My heart ached that day watching in real time, those two towers collapsing, knowing they would be filled with ordinary people going about their daily lives.

I believe that terrorism must never be allowed to win but, I also believe:

*If we are to teach real peace in this world, and if we are to carry on a real war against war, we shall have to begin with the children. Mohandas Gandhi

Shared with dVerse Poets 9/11 In memorium
Jenny Matlock saturday centus
Carry on Tuesday #122

Hell Fire

When you’ve been to hell
Walked among the living dead and survived amidst
that dreadful stench of gushing evil.
Gone through the fire.
Faced the devil.
Felt his breath sear your soul yet, you’ve blown
it back with complete indifference.
G-Mans, no more or less than 55 before your kick ass weekend, is a doddle.

© Daydreamertoo  *All rights reserved

Shared with G-Mans Flash 55

Nights Tender Keeping

Through open windows
Luna shines her light
upon living waters dance.
(in her mind)
so free.

Wind chimes sing.
Lull her with their melody
in these…
the sweetest hours.

Dying embers of day
warms an insatiable love
which refuses to slumber
in her soul
despite the bodies sleeping.

She’ll close her eyes
to the lady’s silvery gaze
glimpse a little Utopian wish
before sinking into nights
tender keeping.

© Daydreamertoo     *All rights reserved

The Tears We cry

Destiny’s wheel spins
we all fit in there to eventually erode
at our given place in time.

Often we hear a calling
then yearn in heart or mind to follow
…the elusive.

To seek comfort in truth
of touching beauty
Know the bliss of a
kissing rain which falls
soft upon each petal of pain
and, for one sweet moment
soothes as a caress of silk
to waiting skin.

So caught up in lifes rush
there’s no time to observe as we each
try to bend the world to our will

To shape it in this land of illusion.
And, no-one sees the
tears we cry



© Daydreamertoo *All rights Reserved

This is not how I feel. These are just some thoughts that wanted to have their say.

Shared with Three Word Wednesday CCLV11
The Poetry Palace Rally #51

Endless Whispers

Tick tock, tick tock
the clock on the wall never stops.
Time marches into tomorrow
regardless of whether I can
keep up with it or, not.

Home is where the heart is 
I wish you could know
how those words fall
like heaven in my hurricane.

They are each a ryhthm of tides
to quell passion’s endless quest
searching for fulfillment.

In Autumn’s first fresh kiss
I feel you arrive
touch my cheek with cool fingertips
as I’m re-living the melancholy in
kaleidoscopic colour.

Through new seasons of love
in other circles of light
I pay yet more heed to your
string of endless whispers.

© Daydreamertoo   *All rights reserved

 Shared with Sunday Scribblings Prompt #283 ‘Tomorrow’
Carry on Tuesday Prompt #121 (Home is where)
dVerse Poets OpenLinkNight #8

The Wish

She dwells in mermaid majesty
a princess of the sea.
Hears the music of it all
in liquid symphonies.

She knows the calm
(the blue)
The constant flow of life
in water’s peace.

She has the sun’s warmth
to caress her natural nakedness.

Charm, grace, beauty beyond
compare, and, the gift of
speech to mystical creatures of
the deep in haunting songs that
will always be a mystery to
the likes of you and me

but yet….

her heart desires more.

A fire in her soul burns bright.
One lone candle through the 
longest nights of her 
aquatic infinity.

There is something she 
must fulfil.

An ache that’s held her
since its make….

For, she wishes she 
could fly, just like faeries
through the sky, and go to
places never seen except in
past’s far distant dreams.

A gentle swish.
A whooshing swirl (or
was it Neptune’s trident’s twirl?)

From out of nowehere
bubbles form and into these
her wishes born.

Somehow she takes off
into the sky, and, as I 
watch her fly I realise
that we too can… 

Give life to our


© Daydreamertoo   *All rights reserved

Shared with Imaginary Garden with real toads Picture Prompt (Mermaids)
Gooseberry Garden Poetry Picnic Time

Jack the Ripper

Whitechapel area Victorian London



No star studded nights shine their light here, amidst the slums and fallen.
He waits nondescript, watching the street women work in the thickest of London’s pea-souper fogs.
Pallid faces dressed up to the nines. Over-painted lips quivering and pinched noses, appearing bird-like from their shadows on the cobbled-stone street ‘neath the gaslights dim glow.
He listens as the women tout. Shout their cheapest prices to hordes of young men and other drunks who goof around as they leave the bar, steal each others top-hats or hitch the seat of each-others britches high, for a laughing rise.
He breathes in deep…mindful always, to keep his patience. The reward will soon be met when he would slice one of those lice-infested bitches.
Rats crawl along the base of the wall behind him but Jack smiles, this was his Whitechapel and nothing blooms amidst this filthy rack of life but lust and… his lust was just for their blood.

© Daydreamertoo *All rights reserved


Most of you will realise this is the story of the notorious serial killer who became widely known as Jack the Ripper. It is thought he began his killing spree in March/April 1888 and is not known when it ended. Over the last 123 years, there have been many theories over who exactly Jack the Ripper was. He was originally called The Whitechapel Murderer until a handwritten letter (supposedly from him) was sent to a newspaper signed, Jack the Ripper.
They speculated that he was a rich man slumming it who hated women, especially prostitutes. Or, he was a royal surgeon doing this with help to cover up one of Queen Victoria’s own Grandson’s (Prince Eddy) who supposedly had married one of the prostitutes, had a bastard child with her and the royal family wanted it all covered up. The Masonics were also suspected of being involved but, none of this was ever proven to be fact.

There’ve been many movies made about Jack the Ripper over the years. Even Johnny Depp made one in 2001 called From Hell, (which was the title of another ‘confession’ letter supposedly sent to the police by the real Jack the Ripper) at that time.

I’ve included three links to read about this story if anyone doesn’t know it and, wishes to.

Jack The Ripper
Jack the Rippers Identity uncovered
Royalty and Masonic Connections and Jack the Ripper

Shared with The sunday Whirl Wordle #20

Silent Sound

Twilight images go by
as cool breezes of the night
draw me close to kindred spirits
on their journey to the stars.

What dreams may come
in the afterglow
as dying embers warm
my fragmented soul
to fly on mended wings
leaving petals on the floor

they won’t hurt anymore

their meaning lost now
in the time and space between.


in my beautiful blue

Still waters surround
with purest of white
silent sound

Reliving magic moments
through the essence of


© Daydreamertoo     *All rights reserved

Shared with dVerse Poets Shhh

The Senses

To see beyond the pale
in the darkest dead of night

To touch what isn’t there
without the need of light

To taste a lover’s kiss
and never want another’s

To smell the sweetest rose
from memory, alone

To hear breath inside a whisper
and know that purest tone

Is poetry to satisfy the senses.


© Daydreamertoo   *All rights reserved

Shared with G-Man’s Flash 55