After so much grey,
sunshine warms us.
Floppy sheets now
feel cool and crisp.
The cat lays feet up,
rolling in the rays.
Sitting on the couch
feeling all my years.
Time passes quietly
in a Boketto trance.
Napping on Sunday
with eyes wide open.
Category: Poetry
The Artisan
Mystical signs beckon the patrons to enter.
New age bling moves all around town
like a carnival goer craving something.
Entering an opium scented open space;
woods, metals and stones sit still, moving.
Defined and undefined shapes seduce.
The Takumi sits, creating magical jewellery.
Standing as if a slow spell is being cast
he looks up from the unique creation,
and I am forever changed by those eyes.
Guinness love
There once was a glass of cold Guinness,
drunk only by the old fart named Inness.
When the icy stout touched his lips,
thoughts of Bessie startled old hips.
Now he’s bouncing and pouncing about.
The Sunflowers
We’re the rebels in your backyard
stealing
your sweet-smelling clean closet.
Off they come from that clothesline
and
we’re takin’ ’em from your hills hoists.
See us as we fuck with your day while breaking
a beat or two as we dance and move.
There’s nowhere for you to hide your
fresh
sun-kissed clothes as we pack ’em up.
We’re the morning-fresh sunflowers
and
switchblades of the badass suburbs.
Under the Sky
The black heart of summer moves in the sun,
the light soul of winter moves in the snow;
white hands of lily move in the rain,
dark feet of onyx move in the mist.
Black and white,
light and dark;
all the same
under the sky.
Docile Teabag
The docile teabag sits
waiting for boiling water.
Sitting and waiting still
to release sweet smells.
The teabag reminds me
of so many life moments.
Sitting and waiting still
for the internet to work.
Sitting and waiting soft
to play the next episode.
Sitting and staring at
a book until cross-eyed.
A Young Beauty
Blooms of youth
playfully dance
on rosy
blooming cheeks.
The darling with locks
of chestnut and gold
beams coquettishly;
Contemplating
the days
little blooming
for the unknown gaze.
Your Temperament
Your cyclone temperament;
quiet in the middle and outwardly destructive.
My Bear
Ruined by the way he smells,
it’s been almost eighteen years.
Still, I am ruined by his smell;
a soul forever close to my soul.
Haiku: Winter Sky
Clear cool winter sky
revealing hidden colours
only for my eyes
C & K 