modicum

beach sand
Photo by Josh Sorenson on Pexels.com

 

He studied her blanks, his heart a magnifying glass as he carefully copied out each jot that filled the lens. He often sat back, in surprise and wonder, sometimes awe, sometimes astonishment. Sometimes, sadness, that could not be expressed in any current language, he mourned.

He didn’t have enough colours. But the poetry, brought him to his knees.

interminable iota

DSCN0366

I admit. I am rather happy to see this year end. It just seemed appropriate to repost this (from the 17th of Dec, last year).

~

that pause of minutest minutes

between the un and the furl.

the joyous window unwinding

that threatens the re and the curl.

the risk of the lean

into the breeze,

minute puts out its smoke

and falls to its knees.

it’s time to go sailing

 

with…

outstretched heart

I catch the evening as it floats in,

on peppered bird song

and the undulating breeze, salted-

 

these tiny sepulchres

vibrating with lament,

 

precious, sacrosanct lyrics of being

funeralled forever

in creation’s sighs

 

 

the uncoiling…

that disturbs

sound.

the confusing

of resiling

bounds.

those playful mobiles

above my head’s

beds

of thought.

how adorable.

(Or, something profane. I forget which.)

mesmerising:

their petrifying –

the timbres compound,

defying

original intent,

no harm

was ever meant,

but you know I have to duck

circumstance demands I pluck

the searing missiles

from my psyche.

 

 

 

she started to write it…

…again like a song

and the notes were prolific

but the _______ was wrong.

And every second bounced now

right off of the clock,

the humming how it deafened

but was unable to knock

through the walls of the translation,

giving up the only door

that opened to a palette

of contemporaneous score.

Her soul hoarse from acquiescing

to her psyche’s dual frown,

its analysis unimpressive

to her cynical eyes drawn down

by the weight of all the irony,

dressed up in metaphors sweet,

the egg had laid the chicken

with a pre programm-ed beat,

and with a glass of favourite wine

she smiled to calm the fray

her psyche saw it coming

she said before, it’s just a segue…


liar

 

unseasoning the season

The immutable reality of change

the longing to keep “before” in range

it’s cratered the cortex of my being

and reverse refracted all my seeing

my inner core blinded by the white

lasering the absence on my sight

the snow in sympathetic silence

weakening the contrast in my blindness

reaching for the knowing of the past

the sewing pain of beauty will not last

or the hope is, it will, in fact, diminish

and these lines, for now, remain unfinished…

a little hungover WordPress?

 

 

First day of the year.

Evaluating movement through life’s substance. (Or is it residue?)

Remember when you told me Vaseline was made from gasoline, and here, have some for the healing…

Remember how we wanted that clown for the party?
Me neither.

(I tried to publish this three times and WP didn’t save it for some reason. Hence the title 🙂 …I thought it was just me. Maybe it is…)

resolutions

looking back over the year

I marvel at the resolutions I’ve kept.

eat more chocolate: check

talk about joining a gym: check

laugh heartily at myself for talking about joining a gym: check

comment on the unseemly passing of time at least one million times: check

tell significant children in my life I can’t believe how much they’ve grown then grimace as I remember how much I HATED that: check

promise myself I’ll eat healthier tomorrow: check.

And now I’m driving, pondering if it’s even remotely possible to improve this list, but all I’m hearing are the wheels turning.

you got me again you re-indefatigable resolutionary revolutions you.

then my coffee spilt as I hit that bump darn it.

I was hoping I could stop missing you…