The Northern Lights

Beneath the Arctic’s icy sheen,
A couple’s love, a daring dream.
They brave the cold, hand in hand,
In frozen landscapes, a love so grand.

Northern Lights, a cosmic dance,
A celestial display, a rare chance.
It’s cold outside, yet warmth they share,
Around the campfire, a love to declare.

Mountains whisper tales untold,
In the Arctic night, love unfolds.
Through frozen realms, they explore,
A timeless journey, forevermore.

The chill bites deep, but spirits soar,
In the Arctic’s embrace, they adore.
A cosmic serenade, a love untold,
In the Arctic night, a story unfolds.

Hand in hand, beneath starry lights,
They find love’s glow, a guiding light.
In the cold outside, views so divine,
Arctic love, an eternal shrine.

Three’s A Crowd

In a cozy corner bathed in golden light,
A couple sips cava, New Year’s Eve in sight.
They clink their glasses, laughter pure and loud,
But in their joy, they sense a gathering cloud.

As the clock ticks down, a tranquil scene,
A trio formed, serene and so serene.
Yet, midst the bubbles of the sparkling wine,
A friend appears, her presence, not benign.

Three’s a crowd, a truth they can’t evade,
The intimate moment begins to fade.
She joins the countdown with a merry sound,
But in their hearts, a quiet discomfort is found.

The couple steals glances, a shared dismay,
As the friend persists, won’t go away.
Resolute in her company, she stands proud,
Yet, the couple yearns for a private shroud.

Midnight strikes, confetti fills the air,
A new year born, burdened by the trio’s share.
The couple’s gaze meets, an understanding glance,
Three’s a crowd, they realize, in this dance.

In the aftermath, the friend departs,
Leaving behind fractured, tender hearts.
The couple, alone, in the quietude,
Reflects on the intrusion, their solitude.

So, in the echoes of the New Year’s chime,
They find solace, sharing a private rhyme.
Three’s a crowd, a lesson learned anew,
In the silent moments, love remains true.

Christmas Shopping

In aisles of chaos, tinsel hung,
A mission grim, where carols clung.
Through throngs of shoppers, scowls abound,
I faced the challenge, shopping ground.

The list in hand, a daunting feat,
Each aisle a maze, a cold deceit.
The carts collide, a jingle bell,
A shopping saga, oh, how swell.

The checkouts manned by grinches sour,
Their beeps and boops, a dismal hour.
Yet, triumph claimed in bitter taste,
The first to finish, in this race.

The festive crowd, unaware,
My victory in the shopping lair.
I snatch the last, the sought-out treat,
A feast achieved with no retreat.

No cheer, no joy, just empty carts,
The aisles echo with silent hearts.
The task complete, a bitter win,
In solitude, a grim chagrin.

The Elgin Marbles

In the land of kilts and ancient pride,
Where Scotsmen roam with stones beside,
I once believed a tale untold,
Of marble games in days of old.

The Elgin Marbles, so I thought,
Were not in museums finely wrought,
But spheres of glass, a game’s delight,
In Scottish glens and Grecian light.

Beneath the tartan, secret skill,
A marble match on Arthur’s hill,
Bagpipes played a rhythmic tune,
As Scots and Greeks neared high noon.

But alas, my youthful fantasy,
Misled by marble memory,
For Elgin’s name, a lordly dance,
With stones and history left to chance.

So let this tale of marbles be,
A whimsical blend of history,
Where Scotland’s hills and Greece’s shores,
Played games of marbles, forevermore.

Yeah, AI still can’t spell very well when producing images!

The Trabant in Snowy Prague

In Prague’s old heart, where history breathes,
Through snowy streets, my Trabant weaves.
A relic of the past, in shades of grey,
A journey unfolds on this winter’s day.

Beneath the spires, where echoes linger,
My Trabant hums, a nostalgic singer.
Through winding lanes, where tales are told,
A canvas of white, the city unfolds.

In whispers of snowflakes, secrets untold,
Prague’s mystique in each story, it holds.
Trabant’s engine purrs, a rhythmic rhyme,
As cobblestone streets freeze in wintertime.

Past ancient bridges, by the Vltava’s flow,
My Trabant glides, a ballet in the snow.
Casting memories on each frosty pane,
In Prague’s embrace, a timeless refrain.

Through castle shadows and narrow lanes,
My Trabant journeys, where history remains.
In a snow-kissed waltz, with the city in view,
A poetic ode to Prague, my journey anew.

Inner Peace

In the kaleidoscope of my mind, where shadows play,
A dance of colors, guiding the way.
Psychedelic whispers, soft and profound,
In the labyrinth of thoughts, serenity is found.

Embracing hues, a cosmic ballet,
Inner peace blooms in the mind’s array.
Mystical melodies, a gentle breeze,
Echoes of tranquility, put the mind at ease.

In the tapestry of thoughts, a silent unfold,
A journey within, a story to be told.
Ephemeral patterns, like dreams that soar,
A tranquil sanctuary at the core.

Through the corridors of the soul, a peaceful stream,
A mosaic of visions, like a waking dream.
In the cosmic dance, where thoughts find release,
A psychedelic journey to inner peace.

The Mole and the Trabant

In the heart of Czechia, where snowflakes dance,
A mole embarked on a journey, a trance.
Behind the wheel of a Trabant, so small,
Through winter’s embrace, it bravely crawled.

In tunnels of white, the countryside unfolds,
A mole in a Trabant, courageous and bold.
Fields of frost, a pristine delight,
As the little car cruises through the night.

Snowflakes whisper secrets in the cold air,
The Trabant and mole, an inseparable pair.
Through hills and valleys, a magical ride,
In the Czech countryside, with snow as their guide.

Headlights cutting through the wintry veil,
A mole at the wheel, leaving a snowy trail.
Furry chauffeur in a world so divine,
Driving the Trabant, a masterpiece design.

Through the Czech winter, a whimsical chase,
The mole and Trabant, a picturesque embrace.
In the snow-kissed landscape, a tale to be told,
Of a mole’s adventure, in a Trabant, so bold.

Changing Seasons

In the closet of seasons, a swift, sudden turn,
Summer’s light fades, and winter begins to churn.
Dilemma in fabric, a choice to be made,
As warmth retreats, and cool winds invade.

Shorts and tank tops, once carefree attire,
Now seem out of place in winter’s cold mire.
Hoodies and layers, a compromise sought,
In this dance of transitions, memories are caught.

Leaves crumple and fall, a seasonal blend,
In the mirror, reflections of choices to mend.
A wardrobe’s canvas, where decisions align,
In the clash of the seasons, a compromise shines.

Scarf and some layers, a balance is struck,
As summer surrenders, and winter runs amok.
In the tapestry of clothing, a story unfolds,
A dance of transitions, as the weather foretells.

Chill! It’s Still November!

In November’s embrace, where autumn leaves dance,
A tale unfolds, of Santa’s sweet chance.
Chill in the air, not a snowflake in sight,
He lounges by the pool, bathed in sunlight.

“Chill! It’s still November!” Santa declares,
As penguins serve cocktails, tending to his cares.
No sleigh bells, no reindeer, just a calm reprieve,
Sat bare-foot, he’s loath to leave.

The sun kisses his cheeks, as he sips with delight,
A reminder he whispers, “Christmas is out of sight.”
No need for the rush, the hustle, the race,
December’s on hold, let’s slow down the pace.

Penguins waddle, mix drinks with a flair,
Santa reclines, the poolside his lair.
Tropical tunes, not a carol to play,
“Enjoy the warmth,” he nods, “it’s still a long way.”

So let’s heed his wisdom, unwind and unwind,
No need for the frenzy, no need to be confined.
In the November breeze, let’s savour the weather,
For Christmas is coming, but not till December.

The Flying Horse

Deep in the plane’s hold, a horse confined sighs,
Dreaming of meadows, under sunlit skies.
As the altitude climbs, and the stall is breached,
A comedic twist, the horse the cockpit reached.

Hooves clickety-clack on the metal floor,
In the pilot’s seat, the steed explores.
Eyes wide with mischief, a gleeful spark,
Navigating dials, flying like a lark.

The control panel, a puzzle to be solved,
The horse, the pilot, problems to be evolved.
Ears flicking back and forth, like radar on high,
A four-legged aviator, touching the sky.

The captain, bemused, at the horse in command,
A partnership formed, above the clouds so grand.
With a nod and a neigh, an unspoken decree,
The horse and the pilot, a duo in the sky’s decree.

Wings of whimsy, on this airborne escapade,
A hoof on the throttle, a serenade played.
As laughter echoes through the cockpit’s space,
A horse and a pilot, in a mid-air embrace.

Through the firmament, with humour and might,
The sky’s vast canvas, a whimsical flight.
Above the clouds, where dreams take wing,
The horse and the pilot, an aerial spring.