Forced Words

I was trying to dictate words, but the words would not come out, the words would not be spoken, they were stuck inside my head, inside my thought processing mechanisms; it was a real struggle to push the words out, and when eventually they were released they came along half a sentence at a time.

The last three to six words glowed, shone in many different colours; these were neon words, words so very special that hardship had to be endured, and care taken, when taking them from the cerebral cortex, out and onto the parchment.

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Albums

Many images, too many images
Appropriation
Never mind the quality
Feel the width
Measure the file size

Lost in storage
Stored away two or three times
Backup; special effects, cropped
For greater effect
Saved again, then copied

I will choose one
Just one
I will choose a thousand
Just one thousand
To be laid side by side

And what of the ones left
Betwixt camera and computer
From hard drive to memory
Stick, to walking stick; so few
Photographs of my mother

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Sun On Thigh

I felt the warmth of the
Winter sun on my thigh
It felt pretty good I can
Tell you

I was writing a story
About the beginning
Of a love affair
It is part make believe
And part memoir
So there was more
Than the warm sun
To make me feel good

Yet I noticed
As cloud cover came over
That my mood deteriorated
And with it my story
Light turned to dark
In both fact, and in fiction
Yet it will still be there
Forever

But yes, I did feel pretty good
When the winter sun
Shone
And warmed my thigh

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Speed Circles

It was a very logical dream
A very repetitive dream
I think I understood its origins

I would write two or three lines
Then the fourth line I would
Highlight with silver grey marker

I would do this two or three times
Then on the fourth stanza
I would highlight the last
Line with a blue marker

It was as though I was
Telling a story, building
Up towards a big finale
I repeated the dream

Two or three times
Then just before the fourth
Time, the story came to an end

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Discuss

The sun is over my shoulder
I am listening to people
On the radio, they talk about
Barber's Adagio for Strings
Their explanative words are
Interspersed with Samuel's music
The sky ranges from silver
Through blue, to grey, to black
The swirling winds occasionally
Settle into a calm stillness
I am full of cold, and from
Time to time break out
With a raucous cough
The room in which I sit, on
A Harris Tweed settee, is filled
With light, bright-light, and
Soft shade
A performer talks of spreading
Out the cello and violin parts
In order to prevent a beat
To provide a serenity
Much like the light in my room

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