Petals fall. Seeds drop. Leaves loosen.
New growth is still some way off.
A forgotten celebration of life in the distance, springing forth like laughter from the diaphragm. Until then, winds rise.
Discomfort. Aching muscles and tired eyes dried by the breeze. Columns of light cascade through the window, occasionally, when the sun manages to poke through.
A fireplace stoked while music plays. Folks well fed and drinks flowing free. There is still cheer in the air where there is water and warmth, where the memory of new lives is fresh.
A roof over our head, we clothe ourselves in autumn colours, waiting for the next thing to break and be fixed. Creature comforts from little routines keep us going. And listening.
Staring into space somewhere in front of your eyes I give an extinguished sigh. A stifled noise. One moment in time. Forgotten.
This happened but won’t be remembered. Following the glazed look was a spark of life. Face muscles contracting commitment to a smile.
An out of place hair on your brow brushed away by a fingertip’s gentle touch. I looked at the strand and placed it alone in your palm. I learned forward. Silence. Before I received a kiss so pleasant it will stay with me forever.
This hasn’t happened yet, but when it does, I’ll remind you that I love you.
I take my old boat ‘Ася’ down the Serpentine River. She’s a glorious craft. She’ll do for a lifetime.
The water laps and whirls around her freshly oiled rear. I duck a branch to live another day.
Safe surrounded by her streamlines. A temple on holy ground. Security.
The ebbs and flows as we stay the night in the estuary. Bobbing up and down. A lifetime at sea awaits.
Snow has fallen
Songs are sung
Cheer is won
Fire is warm
Play the drum
Dance til dawn
Tell your pun
Laugh all night
Frying fat sizzled sound ears pop.
Jelly wobbles worse sugar sweet burst spot.
Often colours blend and swirl mix up make a new one.
Simple sayings sickly sink into deep thoughts all gone.
Purple picnic mountain side rain is here.
Hide the food mood has dropped take me home.
Sometimes squirrels eat our crumbs in the sun shone.
Now we’re home weather fine itchy John.
Dense, fine hairs on a leaf like fur.
He purrs until I pluck him off the tree to put in my book.
Saved or sacrificed? He lives with the letters I sent to this page.
A message just to say that all leaves fall eventually.
But don’t worry, they’ll soon spring back.
Give me iron.
Steam my engine.
Rocket to the moon.
Riding my cognition cycle.
Beetroot and sour cream.
Warm and wet.
I fall off my bike and tear up my knee.
A door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway to a door and a walkway.
Put down the book. Get back on.
I’m tired of all this sunny weather. Give me perpetual autumn. Cozy nights wrapped up in thick jumpers next to warm fires. The movement of falling leaves. The cold breeze against my face. The washing up a treat for my hands after eating some comforts.
A fallen star is just some grit to harden my chicken’s egg shell.
A positive move. Just smile more.
Just smile more. It’ll make you happier.
Smile more. It’ll please them.
Smile or forget.
Nothing is forgotten because it was never remembered. Not truly.
…give me strength.
I feed you food in hope that you produce compassion if not empathy.
May hope be a by product of staying alive.
May staying alive be easy and of value.
May ease come to you as an instinct.
May your instincts be kind.
The pages turn as the trees shake off old growth. A quiet melody plays whilst she reads by the fire. The plates are full. The cheer is here. In this moment we have no fear. October nights glow in our memories with smells reminiscent of smoke and warmth. When the nights are cold and strange and all the pets sleep on, and all the light has gone out and we go to dream new songs. I’ll think about the time you stayed with me and kept me as your own.
I am just a ghost in a ‘morbid dreamland’ but this is where we congregate now.
This is how we meet up and provide each other with the help we need.
My imagination will help power yours and yours will help power mine.
Let yourself drift.
Slide down every watery path until you reach the sea.
You can overcome everything you need to.
The sun and moon will glisten and the darkness will contain.
Books will expand the world if you are a prisoner. Food will contract it. Use them well.
The rules are simple but best forgotten.
The garlic sellers hands had an all day smell.
Stale from yesterday when the garlic sold well.
The hands were large.
Fat fingers like sausages.
Her date for the night was a crêpe suzette.
He said your scent is great come sit on my baguette.
Softly the feather cushion supports your skin.
Naked on the settee, free, otherwise not concerned.
A patterned patchwork dream in your head.
You want to act it out in 4K HDR colour before you’re dead.
Pretence and arrogance.
Often your day is long and you are tired.
There is housework to do and everything is unattractive.
What falls eventually rises again but not tonight. Fuck that.
Something soft is still relatively hard because I can’t do it. Shit.
There is often a case of caution with plaice. Leave this fish be in the ocean. A hazardous race of engines at pace is done by the boat as precaution.
But a potion is drunk by the sailors who stunk of fish kept in ice like lotion. It comprised of rum and felt like fun but sleep became their eventual notion.
Furious rage woke from drunken haze as the night turned to day and all the fish swept over. No luck, no clover, the drunken seaman went over as the seas demanded attention.
The trawler was ruined. The seagulls were stewing their plaice with salt water and kelp. The fishermen died without help and the shorter straw was drawn by the fish and the men who passed with a yelp.
The sea calmed it’s waves and said goodbye to the days where boats would claim it’s bounty. The wind had dropped. All the corks had been popped by nature who never would die.
So goes the story of catching plaice and men snoring drunkenly into the night. Their vessel had failed because they drank too much ale. Natures debt was dealt without commotion.
And so this tale is sung as warning old and young to people at this charity. Don’t be greedy, reward the needy, and the world will find it’s own parity.
What can I say?
Great green swamps of the East.
Nutritious algae looks unappetising.
Sniff a beaker of soil, my friend.
The smell of Earth is your base.
Surely a rainbow would brighten your day.
It’s starting to rain.
We’re all in pain.
An empty stomach is a shame.
At the start of things the Earth eats the sun. It feasts and brightness is forever tarnished.
We then retreat into our minds and feast on moonlit imagination.
With each subsequent thought the darkness grows.
Reality dims to the point of the original source.
Hopefully we can send our selves there and dissolve as brightness reigns again.
Just so the mountains can once again eat all the light and grow trees on their peak.
The cycle goes on to this day.
Forever beginning, we are helpless, as the skies and the soil do battle.
99% of humanity’s tears are yet to be shed.
99 buttons in my box but no thread on the reel.
99 reasons for ice cream still I deprive myself.
99 carved decorations but I keep looking for the blank block.
99 possible outcomes started from the same place.
99 colours would make me go blind.
99 thoughts but I have to choose which to use.
99 steps but no dance, no stairway, and no instructions.
I could lighten your misery.
Your darkness would lift.
Shower you with brightness.
But what would you see?
Blinded by light.
Untouched by night.
Howling your ignorance.
Writhing on the floor.
Guided by faith.
It is always a sign.
When it’s convenient.
Otherwise it’s sin.
A cold touch.
A withered hand.
Weight on your lower back.
You could fall at any time.
Hand of God.
Whisper on the breeze.
Schizophrenia or holy spirit?
One pious rationale.
One debilitating illness.
A smile on the street.
A laugh and a meal.
The warmth in my heart.
Inside us all.
I woke with the moon in the west, a flask of tea in my bag, and a whole day to repeat. Day in. Day out.