Yes a frost
Also strong sunlight
Rashers of well grilled bacon
Cups of, sweet & strong, hot tea
Most days I would try to write a poem; it is a practice, as I suppose is meditation, or smiling, or watching the world go by
Sunday, 18 October 2015
Saturday, 17 October 2015
Friday, 16 October 2015
Thursday, 15 October 2015
Hold On
Take these half closed eyes
Not yet ready for their pennies
Take me with them, half way
Into your kaleidoscopes, & all, or
Half way to the modern-artists crimsons
Take these de-mystified lenses
Not yet to concede, or give in
Send them half way to paradise
With your surprises; rampant
Rapturous crystals piled ever high
Not yet ready for their pennies
Take me with them, half way
Into your kaleidoscopes, & all, or
Half way to the modern-artists crimsons
Take these de-mystified lenses
Not yet to concede, or give in
Send them half way to paradise
With your surprises; rampant
Rapturous crystals piled ever high
Wednesday, 14 October 2015
Cabin
Hemingway you said
Read a little Hemingway
Listen to some old Buddy Rich records
Perhaps a bite to eat, smorgasbord or the like
All of this sat by the log fire
With flames away up the chimney
Outside the snow falls
The pathways from the woods are iced over
Those once lively animals have settled
Into burrows and nests, there is no wind
The tufts of grass are all but hidden
By the settled flakes of joyous alimentation
Read a little Hemingway
Listen to some old Buddy Rich records
Perhaps a bite to eat, smorgasbord or the like
All of this sat by the log fire
With flames away up the chimney
Outside the snow falls
The pathways from the woods are iced over
Those once lively animals have settled
Into burrows and nests, there is no wind
The tufts of grass are all but hidden
By the settled flakes of joyous alimentation
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