Words by A Wensley

Ode to an English Bluebell Slender in your nature, bow, Delicate your blooms, Lilac veils transitioning To lighter shades and hues. Curvaceous curl your petals, That dance in Spring's light breeze, Bells oh bells ring out my blues Oh bright sweet-scented days! A Wensley 28.04.2025

In the beginning the word was…Love In the beginning the word was…Love; A raspberry beret revered, behind a blush-masking easel, A mature student, sketching skin on sand-coloured sugar-paper, A male life-model laid bare, smudged charcoal, rubbed innocence. In the beginning the word was…Blue; A lightbulb hanging unshaded in a white box one single-bed flat, An orange Ambassador, Bridgwater bricked, in a weed-scented garage, A box of Lambretta parts, greased by morning-sickness on oiled beige carpets. In the beginning the word was…Grief; A bucket of never-ending bile, an ambulance siren piercing Good Friday, An empty space filling prayer-worn-hands, an embrace, A redundant breast where you will not be placed. In the beginning the word was…You; An angel caught in the flicker of a St John Street streetlamp,  A bus-stop drunk-kicked repeatedly below a window-box of tender plants. A life for a life. A chance. A Wensley 24.04.2025

Today I'll write about intimacy Today I'll write about intimacy, The complexity of two people Infused with love, Sharing each other's joys, and fears. Today I'll write about intimacy, Without actually talking about That, That aside, Intimacy is quite simply togetherness. Together, sharing moments, The laughter that comes in that moment When you see each other's funny side And are reminded, you click. Intimacy is sharing a spark, Knowing that at any moment One look in their direction Starts a fire in both hearts, and minds. Yes, today I'll talk about intimacy, It's in the being there, in thought, the thinking, The things you quite literally bring to the table, Knowing each other's tastes, honouring perspectives, plot-twists. It's in the awareness of a journey shared, A consideration here and for a lifetime ahead, Remembering each other when it's time for bed, Leaning in towards forgiveness when harsh words are said. Today I'll write about inti...

In honour of Her, by Him: The Mature Man and the Goddess of Spring I watch you In the Springtime of your blossoming,  Petals unfurling Revealing your exquisitely complex centre. Your face, a flower, tilted upwards towards the light, A picture of self-confidence born of love, Glowing, from the inside. I take your hand, to feel you thrive. You watch me In the Autumn of my becoming Dignified in abscission, Bright colours revealed, afore now hidden. My gaze, like a leaf, drifts down your maturing femininity, Rejuvenating the glow in my conscious-self; Beltane fires ignite - joy in the heart of man! You take my hand and I feel Spring. A Wensley 12.04.2025

Sunday Sunshine I smile, The sun has graced us with her presence So I will sit in her warm embrace Be grateful for the luxury Of time to simply be; To run my hands through rosemary,  And read those books left unread for years, Saved for rainy days, And Sundays. I pull up a chair for you, (One of the four you bought for us,  When I sold the trampoline, With a matching table And seat pads for comfort). But you prefer to be indoors, In the shade,  To cook and contemplate the ways of the world.  You say your week has seven Sundays. We are different in that way. A Wensley 6.04.2025