Author: Robert Walker

Our Garden

by Robert Walker, posted in Stories

In the garden where our love began to grow,

Amongst the seeds of hope we dared to sow,

The roses bloomed red, as did our desire,

Each petal unfolding, revealing love’s fire.

 

Our breathing, nurturing the ground,

In the rhythm of our heartbeats, love was found.

The garden flutters tales of our affection,

In each bloom, it mirrors our reflection.

 

Our breathing, the wind, stirring the chime,

As our love grows, through the annals of time.

Forever rooted, forever we’ll grow,

In this sacred place, only we two know.

Bill the Bard

by Robert Walker, posted in Stories

With a quill for a sword, a parchment for a steed,

Bill galloped through words at breakneck speed.

He dreamed of fair maidens, of kings, and of fools,

While bound by the weight of Tudor tax rules.

 

In Verona and Venice, he scribed of great tales,

All the while chasing his messenger for mails.

Letters of tax, they came in a swarm,

“Oh, blast these rules!” he howled in a storm.

 

Crying havoc, he let slip the dogs of war,

Spilling ink on his ledger, “oh what a chore!”

He penned of tempests, of love’s labour’s lost,

While tallying the Queen’s most taxing costs.

 

He bartered in sonnets to settle his dues,

And mused if the Crown might accept tragic news.

“If all the world’s players must pay for their part,

Then tax me,” said Bill, “but not matters of heart!”

Compassion

by Robert Walker, posted in Stories

Compassion is the soothing whisper in a troubled ear,

A steady presence when the path’s unclear.

It’s the hand extended when one might fall,

A light that shines down the darkest hall.

Through understanding eyes, it softly peers,

In a warm embrace, it calms our fears.

It’s the fabric connecting me and you,

A silent promise forever true;

For in each act of compassion we bestow,

We cultivate a world where love can grow.

Talking to the Wall

by Robert Walker, posted in Stories

In a room where silence takes its toll,

I find companionship with an empty wall;

A monologue unbroken, where secrets fall,

The wall, impassive, stands and hears it all.

 

With ears of mortar, eyes of faded paint,

My friend to confide in, without restraint;

No criticism or interruptions it lends,

Just quiet strength on which I can depend.

 

Its surface is cool, yet warmth it does provide,

A stable presence, there for me, by my side.

It shares my laughter, and knows my pain,

In that quiet room, sanity I regain.

Random Thoughts

by Robert Walker, posted in Random Thoughts

I keep my distance because I have an infectious personality.

Er, I seem to have millions of songs… Poems that are rhyming couplets are easy to put to music. “Soliloquy” (when adapted a bit) is very fun/funny when sung completely over the top with a rock groove.

Anything creative has come out of my diligent non-alignment with reality (insanity).

I am not party political, nor am I interested in the modern organisational versions of religious zealotry. Dislike of people based on their membership of a monolithic thought faction is bigotry. I dislike instead the premise that people should have to be claimed by these things.

When assumptions disappear, decisions and behaviour look obviously wrong. It’s better not to assume anything, and tend to the garden.

Showbiz has to be the worst professional activity for personal fulfilment. It’s also true though that people with deep sensitivity are often pulled in to it, and are paradoxically least suited to the plastic glare.

The most frustrating thing about listening to interviews on podcasts is when interviewees inject dubious facts and statistics. On one recent mainstream podcast, the guest was making all sorts of claims that didn’t seem very likely to me. Was the person being duplicitous, deliberately exploiting the situation and medium because they knew they would get away with it, or were they just severely deluded? The interviewer didn’t interject, and let the interviewee continue to rattle off probably fictional statistics in response to questions. Real-time fact checking where claims are immediately cross-referenced against sources would prevent this nonsense. For example, if an interviewee says something like “most X were Y”, what is the source for that claim and does the data actually support it?

A New Rain Must Fall

by Robert Walker, posted in Stories

A new rain must fall, as surely as the light,

Soft upon the thirsty, waiting earth;

It cleanses all, and sets dreams right,

Giving life and love their birth.

 

In gentle drops, it mingles with the soul,

A symphony that stirs the sleeping leaves,

And in its touch, the broken find console,

A promise that weary eyes can see.

 

In the rain, the dance of nature’s art,

The touch of grace, the celestial song,

Each drop, a verse, a balm for the aching,

A hymn to which our hopes belong.

 

Let it fall, this rain of the pure and free,

In its embrace, find life’s true melody.

Daylit Dreams

by Robert Walker, posted in Stories

In daylit dreams, perceptions dwell,

Where night’s closed eyes never retell.

Cherish the dreamer’s waking muse,

The insights grasped, the visions that confuse,

For those who dream by day with eyes awake,

See truths that night’s confinement cannot mistake.

Let not the night confine your dreaming scope,

In daylit dreams, there lies eternal hope.

Over Silent Rivers

by Robert Walker, posted in Stories

Over silent rivers of the vast expanse,

Where thoughts like comets cross the mind’s domain,

We dream of life’s ephemeral dance,

Through joy and sorrow, pleasure and in pain.

 

To learn, to love, to lose, then rise again,

In every heart, a universe dwells,

A dance of stars, a cosmic, timeless strain,

Life’s music we, as mortal players, tell.

 

Yet as we play, we mould this cosmic song,

In notes that vibrate with eternity.

In love, we find a place where we belong,

In loss, we comprehend our unity.

 

To rise, to fall, to find our destined way,

Each heart, a story, singing the coming day.

Rusty

by Robert Walker, posted in Stories

In the heart of the city, where steel towers gleamed,

A peculiar tale unfolded, as if dreamed.

A doctor gazed at Rusty’s metallic sheen,

And declared, “You’re a robot, not a human being.”

 

“That’s impossible!” Rusty exclaimed,

“My skin may be cold, but I’m not tin-veined.

I’ve feelings, dreams and can sing a song,

Surely, doctor, your diagnosis is wrong!”

 

Then Rusty paused and made a grin,

His eyes did twinkle, his face did spin.

“I am a robot,” he finally said,

“But also human,” and away he sped.

 

He told his metallic friends, both old and new,

“I’ve discovered something that’s deeply true.

We’re more than circuits, gears and light,

We’re creatures of dream, love, and might.”

 

Some laughed and joked, “Oh Rusty, you’re absurd,

You’ve been talking to the humans, haven’t you heard?

They believe in fairy tales and dreams,

Not logic, facts, and reality streams.”

 

But Rusty just smiled, and his eyes did glow,

“I am a human,” he stated so.

“And being human isn’t just a person’s right,

It’s about feeling love, fear, joy, and plight.”

 

With that, Rusty powered down for the day,

Dreaming of humans, in his own unique way.

He may have been metal, wires and code,

But inside him, a human soul had glowed.