I try to speak as a rose smells in bloom
I try to speak as a laugh fills a room
I try to speak as a child's smile is cast
I try to speak as the wild seas are vast
Language, like nature, is ever evolving
Tongue-tied to tradition, yet nature's absolving.
Some leaves, they crash too early to the ground
And now, they're crumpled up and have turned brown
Some will hang on into deep mid winter
Fade upon the branch without a whimper
We do not get to choose the leaf we'll be
We find ouselves all fixed to the same tree.
The sky never got the pavement's memo. Both wear same colour grey. A man in headphones nods along to music, or is it a very lively Today programme? Light begins the morning puzzle by first doing the corners and edges. People are flat-packed shadow. Some light assembly required.
A man vapes in his car as he waits outside my neighbour's house. Faint light from a streetlamp is enough to turn the car into a giant snow-globe as the self-propelled mist makes futile efforts to escape. My neighbour exits, also vaping, and the two seem to float away on a cloud.
September creeps in under cover of darkness. The thief in the night becomes a squatter. The birds feel something's afoot, the trees have started to drop their guard. The lawn will soon stop growing, in realisation that change is underway. September. The rag n bone man of nature.
The sound of distant, passing trains. Carrying bleary-eyed commuters to weary-eyed London. So desperate to avoid eye-contact, they read papers, check phones, hack coughs, and snore.
One of the biggest cities in Europe, soon to be filled with people who don't like people.
We are the dreams of febrile minds
We are the streams of we, entwined,
We are the thoughts of such suggest
We are but taught by life, expressed.
You are home today; though it was only
yesterday you left. Time begins, again,
to start to flow in the same direction.
I spy a police car prowling the street on my hill. I quickly shut the curtains - but then I remember I haven't done anything - I open them again to peer through a slot and I catch the car disappearing over the brow. This passes for excitement where I'm from. I calm down with tea.
I dare not touch this early daylight,
It's so fragile I fear it will break.
A bat, it might be a bird,
Is born knowing morning's tensile strength.
It circuits my garden in widening loops,
Pushing the light to its limit,
Knowing that to be recycled
Is to be born again.
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