I am moving towards you.
Suburbia moves on as farmland relaxes my vision.
A distant mountain range and trees in the foreground; I float between the two.
The dreamy afternoon light flickers between the trees as the train moves towards you.
Tag: work
Inspiration
Watching the way colleagues climb the corporate ladder.
Whispers behind closed doors, muffled voices gossiping about such and such, and toxicity oozing from the walls.
Anger turned to disappointment. Disappointment turned to creativity.
The draught_of_giants hit me. With a pen on paper, I jot all the words down.
Smoker’s Cough
Driving home from work
The trees have a smoker’s cough
All over the road
Between
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.
Anti-Work
Take me from this place
where work is all-consuming
sleeping until noon
A Modern Druid
From home to work, there was no warming up. Cold from the inside out, yet warm to the touch, something old and wretched continued to burn within the old Druid’s skin.
Hungry and cold, when lunch arrived, she ordered a cheeseburger with extra pickles and then ate it at her desk.
The Call of the Sea
Another transient weekend
replaced too soon by the
jealous work week.
Barely rested from last week,
the new work week takes
away our day at the sea.
The sounds of the old waves
moving towards the shore,
enticing us quit our jobs and
flee the neverending cycle.
Very Short Story: Home Office
A cool breeze moves through me, touches my skin, and moves me to feel the chill of the air.
I must stop for a few moments; work has become omnipresent, and nature calls me to feel.
Scents linger from outside and inside; I sniff the air in wonder and admiration for prosperity.
A dog keeps barking down the hill; I hear the illegal rooster telling everyone how annoying the chickens can be.
Little Birds
To feel the sun,
the warmth of another day.
The birds talk of wild times in the sky
while I sit here typing away.
They never said my days would be long,
nor my paper trail much longer.
I open the window expecting the birds to stay,
yet they get scared and fly away.
Friday Night Blues
An unused coffee cup,
milk in the fridge, yet the kettle is too far away.
I sit working away;
working, and working, and working the day away.
Results mean little,
as the dollar signs are all they care about here.
Tired of the stress;
too many tasks leave my body tired and frazzled.
Friday night blues,
as thoughts of catastrophic failures, haunt me.
C & K 