Winter pause

The crows they look all dapper and bright up in their tree
they are discussing the meaning of the day’s filigree
a wood pigeon alights and does decree doopity doopity doopity dee.

 

Some day all wildlife will be memory
we will finally chisel away the mountains
to burn the last remnant of beauty on our earth.
Merry Christmas.

 

Christmas came as a pause in the squall
a welcome rest for some but not all
to the hardy who have to suffer it through
my love and respect from me on to you

 

There are lessons taught in old stories, that you deserve your place here on earth, because there is always something you can do that others cannot. Lessons of the brute who cannot outthink the geek, the bully who is more scared than the meek. All fallacy, for there are bright strong men who will wrestle you, then brightly outsmart you too. There are bullies not afraid of a damn thing. The lesson is, although you may not be better at any thing than any another man, you still have a place in this world, you still deserve every bit of love that any other man may receive, your place is not earned through achievement, your place is earned through just being.

 

From discontent blooms beautiful art
Like the prettiest flowers from shit.

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little change

I drew a line, a sensuous perfect line, now I am scared to draw another to join it, It would ruin the line, but without others it tells no story, it is nothing, yet it is beautiful and could be anything. I repeat the line to see where it may lead, but this new line is absent of life. will I ever draw a line like that again?

He came and sold his kitchen knives from door to door
saying ‘There are no other knives you needed more’
‘These knives’ he said ‘Will change your life’
‘another knife would just cause you strife’
my knives though I felt worked for me
yet this was not good enough for he
in the end he let slip his conduct
all just to sell his product.

Shouting opinion as if there was one way
if there was a single way to live today
like there were no other ways to do it
it’s obviously all a load of pulpit.

As the generations pass,
we become more estranged from the world,
we see the differences from us to it.
Yet we as individuals can change faster than a people.

Sure you could wallow in what was
and what will be,
but now is fine and dandy.

Lights

Eyes closed, pink and orange glows with ghosts of my last vision,
the twitching etch of my optic nerve dances and flees my chase,
eyes open, new light passes my lens, my brain again in bloom.

The squeaking of stolen shoes follows me down this deserted street
Looks like he stole them in legalese as in his BMW he takes a seat
He looks like every empty office soul just counting days and money
Just another worker bee blankly gathering someone else’s honey.

A saffron sky greets the night,
She loves drama upon her arrival,
Moonlight washes across her world,
Another turn in our eternal cycle.

The writer,
an introverted soul
but needs to get out to gain inspiration
hurriedly gathering,
then returning to comforting solitude
to write down the horrors
of out there.