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.

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

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

 

 

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.

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.

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.