Tag Archives: Life
Psychedelic Leopard Spots
The fact that I have just seen a minuscule leopard; no bigger than my thumb; nonchalantly roaming between the taller blades of grass in my front garden was not as surprising as I would’ve first imagined.
Then I notice a tiny family of three; lying down not so far away from the minuscule leopard; the baby is twice the size of its assumed parents and the Leopard. Somehow I overlook this irregularity in scale and look away, determined to see what else that I can find that defeats logic. Inevitably, they all vanish before I look back on my search for absolute confirmation.
Feeling aggrieved, I sense that I’m being watched — but still I scan the garden; my mannerisms acquire some semblance of pretense loss, as all I see now is scattered autumnal leaves. Within a matter of moments I disregard the miniature marvels; I smile, subtly, as I come to the conclusion that I’m very temporarily insane.
I continue to walk to the gate and plan my route to work as usual.
September Poem
The seventh month
That’s actually the ninth
Those Romans still rule
But we can’t change it now
Why suddenly the embers
People start up the fires
And the burning I can smell
Quick close that bloody window
A signal to slow death of leaves
Look up and celebrate their beauty
Oops there drops another one
Somebody sweep that mess up!
August, the last noisy neighbour
September is the first peace in autumn
For winter is the drama-queen
So roll on next September
I will always ask you how you are even though I will never know the answer.
Guts
Sometimes I’m asleep with one eye open,
then I’m awake with both eyes shut.
Some days I just can’t stomach it,
but I get up! So that takes some guts.
The Park Bench and the Downpour
As the day passes before you, you sit longer than you had planned
on the most servant park bench.
Then, subtly, a lost shadow whispers into your ear, It says, shame about the
cats and dogs. You haven’t the heart to tell it that it hasn’t rained for days.
Meanwhile, time must be folding inward; squeezing itself until a residue from
a meaningful downpour leaps from your chin.
You remain seated on the bench getting wet, and as you do, you’re
unknowingly and repeatedly shapeshifting; into every person who has ever sat
there for exactly the same reason you do.
Lost Gravity
When I walk on the pavements that knit together my small town, I occasionally hover, fleetingly and quite randomly above the colourless concrete.
Recently, I stood still behind a tree and measured approximately one centimetre of nothing between my feet and the inevitable, and for those seconds I did not wonder how, all I asked was… why? Until, my feet felt firmly on the ground.
The Sigh
You’re shallow breather,
and your thoughts are without tongue.
Once, your eventual sigh blew the leaves off a tree,
then you said,
‘It was just a breeze!’
Old Rain
Rain,
a sister to her brother
mercury,
tapping on my windows
like tiny bombs,
with a message that’s simple,
‘It’s raining!’
Naturally, I understand,
as clearly as the water itself,
for silent prehistoric rain
gains no respect.
Boarding Details of a Slight Return (Nostalgia Poem)
Sky rays
The familiarity
Turquoise Sun
Welcoming sound
to everyone
Faceless ghosts
Repeat
Faceless hosts
Repeat
Personalized movie
Scenes to fit
One front row seat
To stand or sit
Fires are cooler
Multicoloured flames
Rose tinted
Memory fooler
Unacquainted to
remembered names
With a slower me
and a slower you
Me and me
Washed out
Beach garden house
Together
and another you
Visualize and memorize
Repeat.
I Eat Let.ers 