Cheerful Sunday

Go go go the cat paws at her friend.
Dear dear friend go out there and poke at the box.
The magical box of wonder and awe.

Words, spin out of the tapping fingertips.
Language a conversation spins out of control.
Forcefully taking you from the start to end.

Friend keep going, the box isnt that unfriendly, friend.
You’ll find a way there to tell those on the other end that you
you are a friend indeed that needs a friend friend.

Take this friend for a walk, take this friend for a long walk to teach him new things
This friend is a thoughtful friend that understands the complex emotions of compassion, sympathy, and respect.
Let this friend go, take him, and guide him to be the new friend to the world.

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Tall window into the world. My Fishbowl.

Tall clear window,

Gives me a view, with a seat in-front of it

that supports the writer and the words that swell out of a

mangled mess of jello like brains.

Mixed amongst the words sweet sugar cookies and cream invading black

night liquid.

Jitters, shaking arms, a shot of energy and consciousness

Words of unfiltered sorts tumble out as the people on the pavement

walk by, cycle by, drive by in metal boxes with strange wheels that move

moving somewhere, going somewhere.

I am supported by a hard wooden chair that absorbs nothing.

Sitting waiting for the words to tumble out, in the right order?

Never really since words have a mind of its own and a strange new order to bring order to the disorderly.

Later perhaps tomorrow the sense of the words make sense or none at all.

Maybe if I look outside the words will make sense?

Two hours later…

I wonder where time went.

The coffee is gone, as did the sugar.

Hello words what can I do with you today?

 

 

 

Postaday

A Cat’s wishes…

A cat, round furry cat, sits in a cafe sipping green tea.

She writes a wish on to a page with round misshapen paw prints.

Meow, for a cat friend.

Meow, for the cat’s favorite cat nip presents.

Meow, for some time to snooze and snuggle in peace.

Meow, please can I have these simple wishes?

The cat would purr… contentedly if she could have these simple pleasures.

Meow.

 

Postaday

 

 

Red String

There’s a red red cord that only you and I can see.
It winds around you in circles tightly but not enough to bind you. Only one line extends from you to me a link between you to me. No one can see this. Its our connection that we know exists. I can call to you by tugging on my end of the cord, sending silent messages in hope that they reach you.

That line between you and I is as long as it needs to be. Sometimes its a meter, other times no space at all, and at times on the other side of what I know exists. Over that horizon and a few more is you. Living, working, knowing of this faintly present bond. A round circle on a wall marks the hour, counts down the time till that line shortens elastically to zero.

Deaf Man Passes Cards and Pens

Deaf man passes cards and pens

To each table with occupants

Asking for money

A bit of money

To fuel his life

With change that was not his own

What change can become of this?

Not much at all but more walking

Passing cards and asking with

A small card for change.

Change that is not given

For the skeptic

Does not know fully

What shoes he wears.

He’s gone far away

Far away from my hand
my arm, me
He is not by my side
in physical presence
I am now aware that I am
ill with a desire to
be back together again
where two halves
make the chubby round whole
egg again
like yolk to white
cat to its nip
chocolate to the lady
and everything nice
For awhile and some time more
the world will be a bit
off
off kilter where two beings embrace the
earth in hope that the distance
dissipates and no amount of air is too far
in this day, this moment where there is an
electric connection
between that egg and that white
to make something fascinating
so fantastic that the girl would
cry happily with joy
that she could have that chocolate
as if he stepped through a window
in a frame in an instant
that need that want could be
calmed for just awhile
a little while
where the chocolate melts pleasantly
and mixes into her.

Vinegar and water

My furry neighbor beast cat

has taken to my tulips

like chocolate to the woman

with a sweet tooth.

I for one don’t like this relationship

for the tulips are mine!

My remedy to this is to spray about

a mix of vinegar and water about

my pretty flowers,

in hope that they will see

the rising sun

of Dawn.

On green bubbles

Little green bubbles bunched up all on a vine

brown vines to tie them bind them all as a familial unit

Inseparable, to nothing except time and gravity

t&g makes for an irresistible duo to bring the bubble into a chemical mix of

tart & wine. sugar ripened to the peak of flavour

thick skins engulf the round ovalesque bubbles

Green green grape fear not for I am here to save thee from

the rot you wish for, the seed to contact the earth and

renew yourself away. again and again

the seed is here or isn’t

at all. GMO green grapes deny me this pleasure

but takes away the fun the delight of ejecting with pursed lips

the fruit of your labours

the dainty teardrop of your magnificent DNA

the lovechild of your green green bubble

encased with thick thick skins

that stretch from head to toe

without tear break

unmarred you are intact till my lips

surround your body and

tear you limb from flesh

and you are no more no

sustenance remains to

mark where you were

green green grape

 

I am a cookie dealer.

My youth and to now does not seem far apart
I once dealt cookies under the banner of helping girl guides
push cookies door to door, taking outrageous prices for meagre
boxes of cookies, mint, vanilla, and chocolate.
the three main staple flavors.

Now I deal cookies for similar purpose to help some poets
some sugar cookie monsters that need
simply that dark dark sweet cookie
that makes the user say
om nom nom nom
om nom nom nom some more please?

really I need some more cookies
please help I need my cookies sam.

Sure I can help but at a cost.
your cookie fix is funding my
charitable projects, groups, and poets.

You know the sugar and the cookie itself is not of my creation
its a product of culture, sweetness, and habit.

My habit is to sell these cookies,
it matters not to whom but
when the cookies may appear to be in excess.

Cookies here, there, and everywhere.

Tollhouse cookies, sugar, gingerbread,
molasses, snickerdoodle, raisin oatmeal,
white chocolate macadamia, chocolate chip!
Cookies of my desire. A gut craving for sweets.

Cookie cookie on the tray, oh!

Tell me if you can me mine?
Tell me if you taste sweet and divine?
Tell me if you can stay soft?
Tell me you won’t melt my resolve.

Tell me, Tell me cookie.

A new day, new snowstorm.

The night ticks on

measured by the ticking time on the clock.
I am waiting for the time to pass by when I can see the one who makes me laugh
merrily, dance, and fall in love with language all over again.

For this I can love anew to this one catalyst,

who lets me dream, a dream

wish my wishes

climb up towers and mountains

I waive at the world from the tallest point, the pinnacle

where I can send my gratitude, my love

to my love.
I wish to hold you again and make some happiness, in a smile

a laugh and all in between.