Rose petals turn a brown-yellow colour as the roses die on their stems.
A bee aims at your buns.
The sky threatens to shine a bit of sun on your skin.
A fly tries to taste your drink.
The banana chair grumbles underneath your weight.
You relax for a bit. The bee laughs.
To ponder the wind moving the grass. A sense of grace moves through the quiet places of our home.
Not one for religion, yet there is a sense of peace in a church where everyone is welcome.
My thoughts feed the Sunday night existential dread.
I sit and ponder.
A broken canvas
piercing the painting
wildly moving inspiration
the wall and canvas collide
A dull one dimensional easel
the inspiration river flows outside
A broken canvas and broken gems
The artwork reveals itself.
“I haven’t seen you before. How did you get here so quickly?”
“Me? Yeah, well, I decided to grow overnight. I’m expecting my friends soon”.
“Aren’t you a weed?”
“Aren’t you a rose?”
“I think so. Passers-by say there are mirrors for that sort of thing.”
So, what’s the difference?
“You look like a tart; I look like a lady”.
“You are a bit thorny today”.
We had everything; rain-cloudy days, green grass on the hills, and the passing seasons.
Our beautiful home. Slowly and then rapidly, we destroyed all that we loved.
Now the lucky few found a new home of dust, rust, and the absence of rain clouds, season, and love.
A shadow behind me, something hidden, travels along.
The constant disappointments, no matter how hard I try. Longing for my hard work to pay off, yet I never fit in.
So close I feel her breath. My evil twin, my doppelgänger, keeps playing cruel games with my life.
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.
I hover between sleep and awake, feeling the effects of waking dreams and a death-like calm.
The music presses me on through feelings of exhaustion and stressed-out commitments.
When the song stops, I find myself falling towards the keyboard.
I hover, then give in to my dreams.
You walk away from humans when emotions get tough, interactions get too real, and the hurts too rough.
You keep making excuses for your life choices, being broke, and having no friends.
A bottle a day keeps everyone away, is what you love to say.
It becomes too much on Christmas Day as you feel your soul fading away.
How will he be mine?
Cat-like in her scheming, a devious plan develops.
A frog lover, she thinks ‘danger’ and dresses as an Ophidian.
Slinking along in the grass, she never saw the snake.
He saw a flurry of grass, a flying snake, and the cute neighbour running towards him.