A gentle breeze passes through a tree. A ripple of applause shakes its leaves. Man-made structures stand solid and still. The church, the rooftops, the telegraph poles.
Yet nature dances with the wind. Bushes tango, treetops foxtrot. Marking growth, keeping time.
First cup of tea:
broken mugs or china cups
builders glugs, designer sups
it matters not the tea you take
it's equal to the tea you make.
Ancient solstice worship
Prayers to a molten sun
Time in a cloak will curse it
And we'll end where we've begun.
finding an old family photograph
with well-thumbed, ragged edges
that once stood proudly in an ornate frame;
where too much sunlight, and way too much love,
has started to dissolve the image.
We are those fleeting fragments for those who have sat in sunlight.
Looked in the mirror at 56
And knew the stuff I couldn't fix
Everything was in its place
Except I saw my old dad's face.
I met a girl from Hebden Bridge
I drove there in my car
I tried it on bedside her fridge
I drove a bridge too far.
No matter how you take your tea
One lump for your or none for me
No matter if you dunk a bag
Or let the leaves flow loose and that
It matters not the means of travel
Sup your cup
Let the day unravel.
Two tall trees. Guardians of the garden. Full of wisdom and sap. Deciduous and evergreen. Yet for a few sun-soaked months they dress alike and watch as the garden slowly colours itself in under a festival of green.
Leviathan's of Time.
We pass barely noticed in their shade.
I threw some words
up into the sky
as a flock of birds
were passing by
they took two words
from this very poem
it ....... unfinished
..... are still words owing.
Music stopped being fun
In nineteen hundred
And eighty one.
Between The Jam's 5th LP
And Shaddup Ya Face
By Joe Dolce.
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