Poetry | Stories | Photography
Watching the leaves move.
He is eating something I would love
Why does he never share?
Walking with him is bliss.
To run and jump around is freedom
He seems sad about this
Wanting to be close at night
denied the comfort of his grand bed
I want to understand him
My human
Winter rain windscreen
The week’s collection of thoughts
Together we sit
Feeling the whispering rain
Waiting for more time alone
green rain-soaked hills
soft mist masks the reality
walking to find the sky
feeling sadness in each step
grey thoughts turning
becoming a moonless night
amongst the high mist
alone with many thoughts
contemplating endings
feeling a shift
forcing feet to move
a slow descent
At the desk,
between the mortgage payments and the kitty litter,
I have a think.
All those dreams
from years ago when we thought being successful
was for everyone.
As the years passed,
we learnt that the road to success is not always fair, equal, or merit-based.
In the Winter dark of night
Standing alone under the starless sky
Insignificant in other’s minds
A sense of longing taunts my thoughts
hoping it will crush me and mine
I let the taunts try as the stars appear
Significant to the spirit within my shell
embracing the way the leaves fall
Winds blow around me, for I am home
A cup of tea, for one; I sit alone with my archived thoughts.
A welcomed cup of tea, yet the thoughts are wicked and sorrowful.
Can’t we brush them away? If we did, then I wouldn’t be thinking about you.
I used to long for days alone. Now they are my everyday.
Bubbling cauldron,
thoughts so clear,
I feel inspiration,
so very near
on the couch.
Between 12:57 pm and 1:00 pm,
that is when free thoughts flow.
A few minutes of poetry thoughts,
unencumbered by duty and work.
Unnoticed rebellion from within,
words of resistance form loudly.
Burning away the expectation haze,
finishing a poem and filing it away.
Carrying the poem home,
sharing the poem alone.
Watching the trees, farms, and everything else whizz past from the bus window.
For a moment, I was a member of the landed gentry, safe with the knowledge that my future was comfortable until the family told me who to marry.
I go back to watching the trees and the cows.
Asleep with your eyes open,
each bubble forms with a thought inside.
Between two states of mind,
bubbles are forming and cluttering the house.
Awake, you dance around
the house, popping and sampling your thoughts.
C & K 