listening. soon.
He listened as he walked.Hands shoved into his pockets. Scarf wrapped tight. Sepia lights cast spiderweb shadows of bare and skeletal trees. The whispers in the dark echoed. Words unspoken. Unwritten. For now.
mine (edited)
it is my heart.and it will bash against the rocks. it will be beaten by the torrent, by the tumult, by the maelstrom. it will hurt it will bruise it will rend until it tears.
but it will not break it will not surrender it will not lose hope
it will feel all the pain every moment of it battered bruised
but it will heal it will feel elation it will feel love again
it is my heart and i will not lose it.
collioure ii
The rock is layered.The rock is jagged. It breaks through the soil. It cuts down to the sea. The turquoise sea That takes the light From the sun And makes it different.
The vines cling Perilously To the rock. Their roots dig deep Searching Splitting Shattering Rock and soil, Looking for water.
The homes cling Perilously To the Rock. They become villages. Right down to the sea.
The stone sits, Set on rock. Perpendicular. Layers upon layers. Ochre, purple, Obsidian Pale.
noise
He hears.His breath. His heart. His blood, pounding his temples. He hears.
He does not see. His eyes are shut.
Behind them. Behind his breath. Behind his heart. Behind his blood, pounding his temples. Behind them she speaks.
And he does not want to hear.
bad morning
He was thirsty, but the water wasn't wet enough.He drank and drank. His mouth was sandpaper still. His skin felt brittle. It could crack with a touch. His eyelids scraped his eyes with every blink. He winced at nothing. He winced at anything.
almost verse or a part of a beginning
The smell of pine and summer dustThe sound of hooves The bird's call The birds answer The trumpet sounds He runs
unmetered. not quite poetry?
Sat near PicardyLoose ends frayed There are sirens A hint of the winter just passed Past? Both. -------- She's two benches down I smell her food Grilled veg She's just a girl sitting outside to eat a late lunch or early dinner But she has food, and I am hungry I can smell her food over the diesel fumes wafting over from the roundabout, over the scent of the city around me. The wind changes. It's the smell of the city again. But I'm still hungry.