DREAM

Last night I dreamed of Sisyphus

He filled my sleeping head

Last night I dreamed of Sisyphus

And rolled right out of bed.

CLIMBING EVEREST

we're all just a rock in Earth's boundless history

barely a beat upon vast wings of time

so spend it exploring its wonderous mysteries

and find we become that great mountain we climb.

FIRST CUP OF TEA

Some like it so strong that the spoon stands straight up,

Some like it so weak it's transparent.

Each sip that I sup I call King Of The Cup,

And the next one I call Heir-Apparent.

LOVING THE LIBRARIAN

I loved a librarian

She didn't love me back 

She said I was contrarian

And filed me under 'Quack.'

DAWN

"Stick or twist?" says Morning to Night

Who's going to win in this Battle of Light?

Night thinks a while and asks for a card

Light gently smiles at Dawn's own front yard.

Night's hand is played, he's feeling quite slick

But Light wins the Day with its own Five Card Trick.

ONE LAST DROP

It's raining here but no real thought's gone in to it. No effort. In fact I'd be embarrassed to call it rain. It's just going through the motions. Barely a drizzle. I'm surprised Rain's even put its name to it. Soon, the last drop will fall. 

Any minute now.

One last

.

.

.

.

drop

THE CUSP OF CHANGE

Dawn; the trailer to the main event, revealing just enough to keep us all watching. Winter; the scolded child, petulantly hanging from the coat-tails of Morning, not yet old enough to play out on its own. 

We are on the cusp of change as I drink my second cusp of tea. ☕☕

DAD JOKE

I heard Jay-Z tried to run a charity marathon but failed to finish due numerous medical emergencies.

He had 99 problems but the stitch ain't one. 

AMATEUR NIGHT

I rise no further than my back door. Cold won't wait for an answer, barging in as I consider a waking world. The steam from my tea cup briefly dances around the rim before being pulled inside by the draught, like a novelty act being given the thumbs down at Amateur Night.

THE MUSE OF MEMORY

Wednesday bleeds through from Tuesday, which bled through from Monday, which bled through from Sunday.

We paint upon a canvas of memory, swilling our brushes in a watery pot, seeking fresh inspiration as before, summoning the Muse to rise again from its feint, familiar outlines.