Do away with strolls, in populated parks-
The peeling-poster promenades on
Station platforms, play the part
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The crowd around me hardly changes,
I don’t know everyone.
But, the distinct hair colours stand out
counting every strand. It’s easy to take note
of the colours and fabric strangers wear
fuzzy jackets next to leather boots.
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A mossy pebble in the rain
A set of dusty, creaking stairs,
An empty room, filled with silence
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…passed, lifted by the wind, away, alone, no longer in its thousands, week, insignificant, on its own.
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She is a part of
everything and an
inspiration to us all
grieving is evidence
of the strength of love.
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Your voice
Rises as smoke from a chimney, wandering afar
Dances like flames warming a stagnant room
Burnishing the walls with honeyed amber.
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longing to see you again, when you chew your pen when you’re nervous; when you glance into car windows just to see your reflection; when you get frustrated when your hair doesn’t go right…
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Fields of emerald turn to swarms of golden piles
piles are swaddled in black warm and dry
the crow travels high, cross country for miles
swaddled piles of hay mark his way as he lets out a cry
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She was made from a bulk of white stone.
Her first crutch to lean on, an IOU.
Laid and lying on borrowed ground,
knotted and gnarled, the sweet fruit
on a vine ripens and drops,
Give me Antares, the brightest star in the Scorpius nebula
as Libra season runs dry.
Give me Jack rendered dull by work without play
and Mia Farrow’s tannis root charm.
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All Day Breakfast, the first meal I have when
I return to the United Kingdom.
It is my fourth year leaving my hometown.
I prioritize the fried tomatoes,
Reluctantly. Gulping them down my throat.
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