#18 – In the wood…

20150422-133024 copyWhere do you live?

In the wood,

In one of these 3 wooden houses

Hanging up in the trees

So colourful you couldn’t miss them

They started from inspiration

From the squirrels of the forest

They look like a joke

From an old sci-fi movie

From a bad short story

Written by an old infamous drunk writer

Away in his wood shed

Near the river

Unknown until the best selling book

He’s writing now

In this Sunday afternoon

He is writing the word END

On his new novel

He doesn’t know yet

In a few months, he will be on TV

Famous like he would never expect

But keeping his best habit of writing

In his wood shed all day long

No matter the success or not

He keeps writing

Year on year out

He keeps writing

His heart off

 

Where do you live?

In the wood,

 

Endings

The End

The conclusion

The final result

Predictable, maybe

Surprising, maybe to a fault

 

 

Shhhh…

Quiet…tap…tap…tap

no arguing, no music

Quiet…tip…tip…tip

no voices, no cars

Quiet…snit…snit…snit

soft roar of the neighbor’s snore

Quiet…yip…yip…yip

gentle dreaming of a little dog

Quiet…

 

 

echoing and developing

 

 

 

movement of spirit in connecting with his/her humanity

with respect existing realizing

developing

echoing

pushing oneself

reminding oneself

immense responsibility

and taking charge around and within oneself

happening

realizing

 

a gateway or a passageway

 

 

 

 

Explosions In The Sky- Your Hand In Mine

youtube source: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JzIK5FaC38w

 

Wine is Food.

Wine is Food. Savor. Select.
Taste.
Enjoy.
Live.

Marshall, W. (2010). Introduction. In What’s a Wine Lover To Do? (p. Vi). New York, New York: Artisan.

Music (Hour 20)

Music in my ear
is like playing in the sand
it measures the lyrics
in my hand

Moments of life welling up inside
throws a reed out a sea
drifting by on an unending sky
features of love from above

Softly and serene are the beats
to my undying love for you
Memories of life
are never over due

Keep it going
am just starting
your elegance is so enchanting
music of my life
you mean so much to me

your grand entrance
is so graceful and serene
I can’t help
but to dance to your beat
swing on my feet.

slipping and sliding is never defeat
its just the way of not standing around
with out moving to the beat.

July Heart

Sweet summer memories, of a young couple.

He is strong, fearless, a masculine perfection

against her pale frailness, her gentle quiet.

They stand beneath the glittering lights, slow,

dance to the beat of drums and match, as we,

two who were born to complement, bright

brittle arc into the sky, triumphant thunderclap

of sparks showering back to earth, before the

boom of impending rain. I can taste the sweet

of it on your mouth, feel the brittle bright heat

of the fireworks echo in my mind’s cortex,

a brilliant display of our love one summer year’s day.

The Pedestrians

They stare through the window
as we sit down to dinner.

We are crisp paper dolls.
They are shadows.

The warm brown room gets
a little colder.

The curtains seem to grow
a little longer.

The darkness of the corners
is exalted.

The fire dwindles. The street
bathes in fog.

They still stare. They are of
various heights, all slender.

My neck prickles. If I squint,
their outlines blur.

My mother fails to repress
a loud shudder.

My father does not move,
squeezes the knife handle.

The street has countless other
scenes to spectate.

Why us, why ours, why now,
and why do they not blink?

Good Reception

The words came to my ear

Through the taught string

Between two cans

 

I looked to see the speaker

But I could only see my friend-

A girl at the other end

 

I looked away and the voice came again

This time I whipped quickly around

And caught him, can in hand

 

He was smiling as he dropped it and ran

I was in 5th grade and I remember it

Like it was yesterday

 

The first time, that anyone

Outside of family

Told me, “I love you.”