That sort of morning

Refreshed by wood sorrel
and random conversations about dogs, the wonderment of small children
and turkish poetry in translation,
we take an even longer way home...

4 May 2016

Past the eighteenth hole
salt-breezed scented sunshine flows
and bluebells greet us

South Beach

Strung out along the beach
like beacons
of a 'don't give a shit'
generation
last night's abandoned barbecues

You and me

Silence and breath
the spaces in between
say more -
don't say more
breath and silence
in between the spaces

untitled

and somedays it seems
i bleed hot tears and my heart
weeps unspeaking dreams

Feeling inspired

Wandering somewhat aimessly through dreamtime, I meet my long-dead maternal grandfather, looking spry and in his middle years.
We chat about my memory of him as a bowler-hatted city-gent when I was a child - 'ah, I was much older then' he explains.
We see, exhibited on the wall of a gallery, tiles (fridge-magnets?), inscribed with individual words. These few things are all that really matters we agree - truth, beauty, love...
I wake and spend a happy hour or two planning the artwork :-)

My Wednesday

We walked the rope-labyrinth today
in the yellow-sun
needle-sharp rain

I was listening to 'Beloved'
on the radio
and mindfully litter-picking

Her tender paws were glad
of the sweet soft grass
as she ran
to and fro

And the world turned...