Cup of colourful sweets

Tall transparent cup of sweet chocolate treats.
Written messages all over each and every one.
Happy Wishes for a new year from this day on.
A lover wishes to give love, cheer, and comfort.
A cat that accepts the suit, she is content to exchange
a bit of happiness in small nibbles over a long
time to come

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

 

 

Moving day.

Even though its the start of a new month.
Vans, trucks are out on the street
Carrying the belongings of the people
from A to B
There is not the blue flower cheer and merrymaking
the caravans of moving to new places
rush to make the move quick
for the people want to resettle into a new abode.
The cat is at home,
not moving for I am already home.
At a place where I can be found.

In a country full of clocks.

My heart is set in a land full of ticking
infernal clocks that tell me the negative of what I want.
I am not allowed to latch my hand onto that hand,

that large slender hand.
I hope my emotion that fills me with misery and worry
to not be the breaking point.
Between two things
that share a lucky passing connection.
Between two points
from here to there is just a far away place.
Between my head and yours
dreams fill the space with time.
Between the next tic-tock of the minute
I feel torn amongst this world of mine and
the world I don’t know existed.

I hoped I died when that heart of mine expired
yet, yet, nothing was there when the metal tore me apart
there was an empty space
it was gone,
oh dear
there is no end to this.

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.