A single tear has gathered
on the boundary edge.
A tear is full of adrenalin,
enough, they say,
to kill a rat……
If it falls now,
perhaps releasing will give her Life.
Well it’s a bit like this:
I took the day off to do
essential, mindnumbing, deadlined
How can I face this procrastination
one more single solitary minute?…..
Ok…. I am writing this,
my offering called PAPERWORK
PAPERWORK will have caught me in its
entwinded its figures and
accompanying letter of informations
around my throat …..
….BUT I SHALL SCREAMMMM…..
And when I have finished with YOU,
I shall live again……..
stuffing you into a brown envelope
and into the postbox with a
sneering look on my haggered face……..
HAPPY NOW PAPERWORK….
…….You’ve got me!
It was very bright before dusk tonight.
Driving home I saw street signs turn bronze.
In my rear view mirror, an abundant orb of
rusty, honeyed, flamboyantly rich glow oozed,
like an ice cream bomb, deeply into the earth.
Icey hot, I broke the holding of my breath
and I sighed the sound of person releasing
all the troubles of their human life.
Then I could still go breathing into yet another
deliciously experienced dappled day.
There was a porch swing then,
When you were a little one
full of life and cheekiness.
I would sit with you
in my round, warm arms and sing to you
rocking back and forth, up and down in the heat
of a summer of biscuited, brown grassed days.
It feels a lifetime away and surely it is …..
“all thirty one” says the inner timekeeperof my pining heart.
I find I hold my breath,
as if nothing will get me
if I stay absolutely motionless.
Then at other times,
I notice I was once oblivious,
the horrors of the damaged world
invisible to me, I thought all to be beauty.
Most of the time now,
I have apparently woken up in hell,
caught in the trap of seeing the non beauty,
having forgotten to stay anchored to the reality
of the presence of both.
If I were Queen of Heaven,
everyone would have a crown.
Grey skies hang lifeless
like static paint on tired canvas.
Distant beech glow golden
yet nearer, Mirabelle waft around
in fresh winds of early November…
…. and what of me?
I sit in bed fooling myself about resting
when in fact, I need wind’s arms to
take and spin me on and forward
in this curious Dance of Life ….
Time to move with nature and breathe.