Cat fur and itchy crumbs,
The soft and milky
Spell of films and laughter,
Salty tears the blanket took,
Stretchy holes and threads
Pulled loose by happy claws –
The ecstasy of dribbling jaws –
Bobbly bits I want to pull
(Pigtails on the girl in front)
And dingy bits from god knows what –
Old friends –
Do not wash my yellow blanket.
Strut
Dig your heels in
Do that hip swing thing
Hold your head high and
Let the rhythm make your tail spin
Plug your best sounds in
Hear the sound waves sing
Don’t walk to work
Take a twerk and have a swing fling
Highlight of my day
Making my way
With a private sashay
Every time I press play
Soft stroke of the breeze
On shoulders heavy from yesterday;
Should have stretched.
Now the wind kisses tired
Muscles better; bugs crawl on dry skin,
Tickling me
Back into perspective,
And the ache of bigger things is lost
In nature’s rocking arms.
Neat honeycombs of cross-cross vines
Defend the land: salute the star-white
Sun of morning,
Whilst friendly olive groves, their upright
Neighbours mock, and dance for joy as
Day is dawning.
In the hum, alert and tired,
A mind swims. Morrison
Sha-la-las from tinny old
Pub speakers. Heavy-ringed
Hands rest on scratched leather arms.
Crumbs nestle into cracks in age-
Faded upholstery. Once
Proud Patterns, too tired to try,
Sag and fray under the long
Weight of time. And in the low
Buzz, wired and slow, a mind swims.
In the haze:
Watching the turquoise waves,
Dreaming of slower ways
To be.
In the haze:
Found my way from the maze,
Traded the London craze
For sea.
On the stones:
Glistening ocean bones,
Laughter and ice cream cones
For me.
On the stones:
No need for mobile phones,
Far from to-do-list drones,
I’m free.
In the breeze:
Brushing my sandy knees,
I do just as I please.
Easy.
In the sun:
Finding the small things fun,
Feel life has just begun.
You see?
Slowly building mute frustration:
Will it ever flow again?
Sometimes words come swift and giddy;
Sometimes no ink in my pen.
Hours that turn to days, unanswered
Questions from my twitching hands.
Over time, wild space reserved for
Writing falls to life’s demands.
Nestled in warm breeze and scratchy
Grass, I sit and feel the page.
Now, on mud-cracked basin, flows a
Stream released from my mind’s cage.
Like the fractious cry that soars from
Tiny lungs first tasting air,
Words, cascading, flood me with
Relief from hope’s expectant stare.
Coloured noisy shirts
That jostle brightly:
Sugar strands
On wet icing,
Trace the long stemmed field
In well-worn wheels of
Summer sports.
In every hard-pressed heart
A different song is sung:
One that moves
Light feet or knows
The beat of mournful drum.
Young ankles turn on
Dried footprints.
But just for now, from
Far off, their sunny
Sport brings smiles
To tired faces:
Pale and lined from endless
Office hours. Their gaze
Rose-tinted.
For some, this light will
Blow out here, but not
For all. A
Bold white spark is
Thrown on restless kindling;
Nervous legs will come
Again soon.
Feet, unused to trainers,
Will regain their bounce
And eyes that
Lost their starry
Faith will glow once more.
Happy memories
Open doors.
Tea and a cat
What could be better than that?
ThinkingInk 