i still see you
slowly walking among the hinterlands of your mind
wrestling with phrases and time
i still see you
hidden behind confusions purdah
or when it's briefly lifted by a kindness
i still see you
pleading with watery eyes
i still see you
I still see You
#WorldPoetryDay
Tuesday's tune; tyres on tarmac. A pigeon plays chicken with traffic. Roadworks shrug as impatient motorists see red at temporary traffic lights. A church bell chimes, goading the queue with the passing of time. Passing of time. The pigeon struts off, having made its point.
Broken twigs; evidence of last night's gale, scattered around like a feverish end to a game of KerPlunk. Pine cones on the ground. Nature's hand grenades. Waiting for the warmth of the sun in order to explode.
You could say they pine* for the sun.
(*Danger - unexploded pun)
we think we're alone, so it's said,
from those who have slept here, before,
yet we lie upon sleep-laundered beds,
an island of dreams meets the shore.
Did you hear about the limbo dancer who achieved all of his dreams?
To be fair, he did set a very low bar.
memory slips through
the fingers of the
hand we are left
grasping grains
where once
we gripped
dunes of
sand
.
Winter shows it still has teeth as it beats a frosty retreat. Monday is very bright for its age, making red bricks glow and shadows more defined. Right here, right now, the world can only be viewed through a squint. Everyone wears a permanent frown - or maybe that's just Monday?
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