https://www.facebook.com/519597461239645/

James Osben Mindfulness and Poetry, Newton Abbot (2025)

30/08/2025

Kids of a different era

We didn’t have filters, just freckles and sun,
Grass stained knees from the days we’d run.
Out the door after toast and tea,
“Be back by dark!” and we’d roam wild and free.

We built dens with pallets and bits of old sheet,
Turned alleyways into a bustling street.
Our swords were sticks, our bikes were steeds,
We planted our dreams like dandelion seeds.

We pressed record when the DJ spoke,
Taped our voices with a giggle or joke.
Cassette in hand, we’d make our shows,
With sound effects and radio prose.

We made our own fun, no tablets in sight,
Just torch lit whispers deep into night.
A blanket, a sofa, a VHS tape,
‘From Time Bandits to Willow’ our great escape.

We rang doorbells, not phones,
just turned up to play,
Knocked three times and then ran away.
We climbed up trees and jumped down stairs,
Told ghost stories in sheds with mismatched chairs.

We toasted marshmallows on fires we’d made,
Bikes in a circle, secrets conveyed.
We swapped stickers, cards, and sweets with pride,
Bartered our toys, with no need to hide.

We rode without helmets, hands off the bars,
Mapped out the cosmos with dreams and stars.
Our maps were made of guesses and chalk,
Our journeys told in miles of talk.

We called our mates from a box on the street,
With pockets of 10ps and freezing feet.
We wrote down numbers in notebooks worn,
Hearts drawn in biro, pages torn.

We passed notes folded in secret code,
Declared who we fancied in a glittery ode.
Our crushes were scribbled in Tippex-white,
On pencil cases we’d cherish every night.

We knew the thrill of a Top 40 chart,
Of dancing alone with a full burst heart.
We weren’t chasing likes, we just chased the beat,
In kitchens and bedrooms on sugar rushed feet.

We didn’t pose, we were the scene,
In mismatched socks and faded jeans.
We were loud, alive, unsure, and true,
With bruises to prove the things we’d do.

Now the world is shiny, fast, and wide,
But somewhere those kids still live inside.
And sometimes, when the WiFi’s down,
You’ll hear them laughing, running round town.

So here’s to the glow of our untamed youth,
Lit by laughter, by wonder, by unfiltered truth.
We didn’t need proof, just moments to spend,
And memories made that don’t need to trend.

Poem by James Osben

28/08/2025

Summer’s Pocket

We packed up the car with snacks and songs,
Two little voices chirping all day long.
Off to Gam-Ma and Gan-Dan’s place,
Where cuddles and giggles filled up the space.

Coventry sunshine, toast on the side,
Fun on the pavement, a bike to ride.
Stories from books and stories from lips,
Of when Mummy was little and danced on her tips.

Then over to Essex, to MeeMaw’s domain,
Where the paddling pool splashed like midsummer rain.
Aunties and uncles, cousins galore,
Little legs running and calling for more.

We saw Great Nanny Peg, wise and warm,
Wrapped in her arms like shelter from storm.
Daddy’s old friend Andy brought pizza and cheer,
“All you can eat!” (and Ava said “Hear, hear!”)

Exploring in sunshine, damp from the hose,
Wearing pyjamas wherever they chose.
Up far too late with bedtime delays,
So full of life in those long golden days.

Next week brings uniforms, shiny and neat,
School bags packed and shoes on their feet.
Ava strides back, year two in her view,
While Mira begins school in reception brand new.

Poem by James Osben

In the first photo on the left is me, my wife Rheanne and our daughters Ava and Mira. In the second photograph is Ava and Mira with their great nanny peg.

26/08/2025

Defying the Odds

Born to the hum of a council flat,
On a humble estate where love was at,
The heart of life, though pockets were bare,
What we lacked in wealth, we found in care.

Dad, a labourer with calloused hands,
Mum at Gateways, she made her stand.
My sister, just two years behind my stride,
Shared laughter and warmth side by side.

The flat held echoes of joy and strife,
But it framed the roots of our early life.
I’d look at my mum and her radiant smile,
A beacon of love through every trial.

We moved to a house, three bedrooms wide,
With a garden so big it felt like pride.
Another sister joined our crew,
More hands to hold, more love to imbue.

Winters were cold, the fire our core,
Ice on windows, blankets galore.
Yet Christmas glowed with homemade cheer,
As we decked the halls year after year.

But life’s path twisted, and shadows fell,
Dad’s battles cast a heavy spell.
Mum stood firm, a single light,
Raising three in the darkest nights.

I couldn’t read, I couldn’t write,
Till years had passed, and I found my might.
School said we’d fail, the odds were low,
But seeds of hope began to grow.

One sister reached a PhD,
The other earned a Masters degree.
And I, once counted among the outcast,
Rose to heights they’d never forecast.

A Consultant Nurse, soon approved,
The scars of the past now soothed and proved:
Your history and grades don’t fix your fate,
With grit and love, it’s never too late.

For we are more than where we begin,
Our strength forged deep beneath the skin.
The past may shape, but it won’t define,
We wrote our story, one proud line at a time.

Poem by James Osben

26/08/2025

Shadows We Cast

We fashion our stories from fragments of pain,
Binding one figure to thunder and rain.
Yet storms are not born of a single sky,
Nor truth contained in a single “why.”

The mirror of memory can trick the eyes,
Casting one face as the sum of all lies.
But sorrow has roots in a deeper ground,
Not just the soil where one name is found.

They walked on shells, afraid to be wrong,
Where discipline faltered, silence grew strong.
Fear is not fiction, nor blame without weight,
Yet monsters are made when we harden to hate.

Transference whispers: “Here is your foe,
All that you suffered, let them now show.”
But wisdom reminds us, the lens is our own,
Coloured by wounds we’ve never outgrown.

So pause with compassion, turn inward and see:
The shadows we cast are part of me.
Reflection may soften, perception may bend,
And truth finds its voice when the blaming can end.

Poem by James Osben

26/08/2025

The Lenses We Wear

When hurt is too heavy, we search for a place,
A figure to carry the weight we can’t face.
We gather the shadows of years gone by,
And hang them on someone who passes us by.

Yet no soul is only the sum of our blame,
No heart is carved from a single flame.
The stories we tell can distort what is real,
When anger decides how the past should feel.

Projection is subtle, it creeps and it binds,
Turning one person to all of our minds.
But truth asks us gently: look deeper, be still,
See not just their faults, but your own shaping will.

For every reflection distorts, yet reveals,
Our vision is tinted by how the heart heals.
To free both ourselves and the ones we accuse,
We must see with compassion the colours we choose.

Poem by James Osben

20/08/2025

Compassion

A flame need not be fierce to warm,
It glows within the gentlest form.
No thunder shouts, no banners rise,
It speaks in softer, steadier skies.

Compassion bends where others break,
It holds the hand, for holding’s sake.
It hears the hurt behind the word,
A silent song that longs be heard.

It kneels beside the heavy load,
It shares the burden of the road.
No promise made, no debt to pay,
Just presence walking all the way.

And though the world may clamor loud,
With fear and anger in the crowd,
Compassion whispers, calm and clear:
“I see you. I am with you here.”

Poem by James Osben

17/06/2025

Misunderstanding

A glance, a pause, a line half-spoken,
A word sent fast, with no emoji token,
And suddenly, the air is thick
With meanings missed and tempers quick.

A sigh mistaken for disdain,
A joke received as veiled disdain,
A silence read as growing cold,
When really, someone’s just not bold.

That message sent with hurried hand
Now blooms a quarrel, unplanned.
No tone to soften, no eye to see
The truth behind: I meant kindly.

But here we sit, our hearts on guard,
Each playing the wounded bodyguard,
Reacting not to what was meant,
But how our own emotions bent.

For moods are mirrors, tinted glass,
They filter what we let words pass.
What’s said may fall on heavy days
And twist in all the wrongest ways.

A raised brow hides a worried mind.
A late reply? Just pressed for time.
Yet stories grow in anxious heads,
Of things unsaid and things misread.

It’s human, this, the jagged flare
Of hurt that sparks from brittle air.
We see the world through wounds and fears,
Through tired eyes or angry tears.

But what if we could pause the thread,
Step back before the words are said?
To check the lens, to breathe, to see,
That not all battles need to be.

To ask, not guess. To seek, not blame.
To cool the heat, not feed the flame.
Compassion is a wiser guide
Than pride that turns our hearts aside.

So next time meaning feels askew,
Be mindful: it may not be true.
For every soul, like yours, is trying,
And most of us are just surviving.

Poem by James Osben

15/06/2025

A Father’s Treasure

In quiet hours before the sun,
I sit and smile at all I’ve won,
Not riches made from coin or gold,
But tales of joy my heart will hold.

Two daughters, wild with boundless grace,
With laughter etched upon their face,
With hearts so kind, so fierce, so true,
The world feels gentler through their view.

They dance through life on daring feet,
With scraped up knees and spirits sweet,
They squabble, storm, then hold hands tight,
For even in their clash, there’s light.

They teach me more than books ever could,
About being brave, about being good.
They challenge me, forgive my flaws,
And wrap my soul in soft applause.

They do not know the gift they give,
A reason more than breath to live.
To hear them whisper “Dad, I love you,”
Is worth more than the sky turned blue.

Yet none of this would be my fate,
Without the love who helped create,
Their mother, strong, serene, and wise,
The lighthouse when the storms arise.

She holds us all with steady care,
With quiet strength beyond compare.
I see her hands in all they do,
Their warmth, their will, their wonder too.

So here I stand, a man made whole,
By little hands that shape my soul.
To be their dad, it humbles me,
This fleeting, precious legacy.

And though the days rush, fast and wild,
I live forever in each child.
So lucky, blessed beyond all measure,
Fatherhood: my truest treasure.

Poem by James Osben

11/06/2025

Nostalgia of a Council Kid

Born in the days of brick and breeze,
council rows where life moved with ease.
Mum at Gateway, grafting late,
Dad in boots by the council gate.

No mobiles, no screens to glow,
just streetlight halos and the radio.
The 80s pulsed through plastic dials,
vinyl spun in crackling styles.

Grandad’s hands on a battered case,
needle drops, a warm embrace.
The Stones, The Who, The Beatles played,
echoes of a past replayed.

Cartoons ended, then we knew,
outside was calling, skies were blue.
Pedals spun, we raced the breeze,
skinned our knees on tarmac seas.

Imagination shaped the day,
sticks were swords, and trees were clay.
No group chats, just knocking doors,
running wild in open moors.

Bonfire smoke and music’s hum,
the clash of rock and Motown drums.
A battered tape, a Walkman’s hiss,
our universe in songs like this.

Four channels told the tales we knew,
before the world turned pay-per-view.
No rewind, no pause, no stream,
just now, just then, just what we’d seen.

The past still lingers in my mind,
not just in years but how we’d find
joy in things now left behind,
a time of less, yet more entwined.

Poem by James Osben

26/05/2025

Twice the Wild, Twice the Grace

We have two daughters, wild and bright,
Who burst into our world like light.
With tangled hair and muddy shoes,
They chase the wind, outrun the blues.

They laugh like thunder, fierce and loud,
Each voice a storm, each heart unbowed.
They don’t tiptoe, they don’t delay,
They turn the world to joy and play.

One sings to stars with fearless might,
The other dreams in broad daylight.
They build empires out of sand,
With pure energy and messy hands.

They love like lions, bold and true,
They give the world their every hue.
No second guessing, no retreat,
Their hearts don’t know the word “defeat.”

And though their fire can leave us spent,
Their wildness is no accident.
They test the edges, push and try,
And teach us daily how to fly.

We hold their hands through highs and lows,
Through dragon fights and tangled bows.
And when they scream or fiercely cry,
We breathe, and meet them eye to eye.

For though they leave us in a spin,
They hold the universe within.
And every mess, and shout, and shove,
Is just another name for love.

So on the days we feel undone,
We know this race is one we’ve won.
We never wish for calmer seas,
Just wilder winds and scraped-up knees.

They’re not too much, they’re just enough,
Even when the ride is rough.
Twice the storm and twice the grace,
Twice the light in one embrace.

Poem by James Osben

17/05/2025

Everything

In the hush of dawn, where the stillness clings,
We drift through dreams on slumber’s wings.
Your breath is soft, your fingers curled,
In this small bed, the whole wide world.

You snuggle close, so calm, so true,
Wrapped in blankets, wrapped in you.
No riches shine, no stars above
Can match the light of your quiet love.

Then morning stirs with golden grace,
And sunlight dances on your face.
You blink, you stretch, then eyes meet mine,
A smile like sun begins to shine.

“Daddy, I love you,” you softly say,
And all my cares just melt away.
My heart swells full, beyond all scheme,
This moment realer than any dream.

I need no more, no wealth, no fame,
No legacy, no louder name.
For in your voice and in your grin,
Is all the world and all within.

So here we lie, just you and me,
Bound by love’s simplicity.
A fleeting blink, a whispered sigh,
But in your arms, eternity.

Poem by James Osben (In the image me and my youngest daughter Mira)

17/05/2025

My Family, a poem inspired by my daughter Ava (Age 6)

Hello, I’m Ava, and this is my art,
A picture I drew from deep in my heart.
That’s me with my crown and my long princess hair,
I’m smiling wide ‘cause I love being there!

Next to me is Mira, she’s three,
She runs and she laughs and plays with me.
She’s cheeky and sweet and sometimes wild,
But she’s my best friend and a brilliant child.

That’s Daddy on the right, he hugs us both tight,
He helps people feel better, both day and night.
He gives them hope when they’re feeling sad,
And when he gets home, he’s the world’s best dad.

And Mummy’s not far, she’s by daddy on the page,
She’s a radiographer, kind, wise, and sage.
She checks people’s bones with a clever machine,
She’s the bravest and loveliest mum I’ve seen!

Above us all is a big rainbow heart,
Because I love them with all of my heart.
We live in a house where laughter is loud,
And love wraps around us like a soft cloud.

We’ve a garden of sunshine, green grass to run,
With flowers and worms and space to have fun.
I read my books and I play with my toys,
With hugs and adventures and magical joys.

So this is my family, drawn by me,
Ava, age six, full of love and glee.
I hope when you see it, you’ll smile too,
‘Cause love makes the best kind of home for you!

By James Osben (Inspired by Ava Osben)

James Osben Mindfulness and Poetry

30/08/2025

28/08/2025

26/08/2025

26/08/2025

26/08/2025

20/08/2025

17/06/2025

15/06/2025

11/06/2025

26/05/2025

17/05/2025

17/05/2025

Address

Telephone

Website

Alerts

Contact The Practice

Shortcuts

Share

Category