sweet tea
for a hollow morning
grey skies
Tag: writing
Wild roses
By my feet
wild roses are whispering
tragedies through the fescue
grass; dramas caught on the wind.
Another prairie summer.
clouds
morning hustle
amorous clouds shed
kisses for concrete
lipstick
sip tea from dainty china cups
imprinting lavish coloured stains around the rim
the footprint of painted lips
a kiss thankful for the sweet taste
remain crystallized for the next sipper
eavesdropping
in the book shop under poetry
two strangers whispering
the first, “why is poetry so expensive?”
the second, “because poets are starving.”
I think that I could stand
to lose a few pounds
and then wonder briefly
whether it’s best
to stop writing
or skip dinner.
before dawn
ahead of the sun
able bodies gathering
to breathe together
some inner dialogue
Good vs Evil brain, a conversation.
Good: I think I’ll write something today.
Evil: Are you sure that’s a good idea?
Good: Sure, why wouldn’t it be?
Evil: Are you kidding? Read your drafts! Every word written there is barf.
Good: That’s a bit harsh.
Evil: It’s the truth.
Good: Well screw you, I’ll write something anyway.
**writing**
Evil: ….. so?
Good: You’re right, this is really shitty.
Evil: You should have just listened to me to begin with.
**crying**
fin
and why
Everywhere you
look people are
ferociously chasing after
nothing in particular.
stargazer
her shadow turned to ash
and she sat lusting after
foreign stars, imagining
rolling them over in the
softness of her hands
answering every question with a whisper
waiting
spent an evening
awkwardly on the
side of the road
waiting in the snow
for a bus to come
and take me somewhere
I didn’t realise
I needed to go
a place which finally
reminds me of home
Some call it red 