is it time it is
just now here
at this point in time
everything is
just perfect
in the sun morn
the easterly laughing
uproarious at the cherry blossom
in a giggle of pink snow
my cuppa placed just so
cat snoozing alongside
the close distance of of
soft music
a breath so deep it is a sea cave
full of sky blue
if there is more
i cannot put my finger on it
there are too many blossoms
stopping me just in time
t i m e
water discourse
the river
is longing
for the sea
the sea
is longing
for the mountains
the mountains
are longing
for snow
the lake
wants to be
the sea
the sea
wants to be
the lake
waves of clouds
over the mountain’s
reign
poetus operandi
quietly patiently a poet
waiting in the reeds
with a decoy and a quacker
until a thought alights
then bam! bam!
giving it both barrels
out it comes
and then it comes
slowly at first
the incoming smile
then in full spate
my arms open wide
an intake of breath
salts the main brace
of another great swim
A ride on the tube ~ a prose poem
Subliminal; buried beneath the noise is the noise. Everyday’s commute muted as the mundane. The track of a thought is caught whereas the clatter of the track’s squealing becomes nought. The lullaby of the carriage swaying my eyes to close upon the dark windows. The dark thoughts of the person behind the opposite reflection are an eye into my dark thoughts. Ad_um_brated the points clatter and I smile inside at my growing collection of words. The lighted reflection of the clamour of laughter lightens my demeanour. Now there’s a word for my essay I smile surreptitiously. Now there’s another word I think and that thought smiles into the light of the next platform. Not my stop. Don’t want to stop this merry go around of abstracted creativity. Even as the cables outside undulate into the next tunnel my smile is personalised to me alone. Not one snake knows me or my thoughts I think, neither I theirs. This black and white journey colours my thinking. We all sway in unison our separation lost in the timelessness of our thoughts. Schuum ~ the doors open ~ I get off on it again.
enough tears
if you say enough
if enough words say
that is enough tears
they will still flow
down the cataract years
white water spittled
into eyes that flinch
at flinching
stay shut and blinkered
for what can one do
but look forward to the end
of another’s beginning
theatrical prop
my mother had a prop
down in the garden
flat on the bottom
a V on the top
all the washing on the line
they blew just fine
until to pulley broke
and oh my god no joke
all hell broke loose
that bloody noose
that V on the top
was the bottom line
i swear it was
i saw it see
just like yesterdee
it was
