Touch

10th June '2014

Touch.
A light touch.
Just a li'l feathery stroke.
So light on a sleeping back.
Like a pebble in a still lake.
Some ripples cascade.
Then the stormy silence and silence.
That's what a touch is all about?

But where do the ripples go?
Is there an underground chamber under all the lakes in the world,
where they go and hide?

I agree, Calvin

7th October '13

yellow sipper mugs
and orange ink
thoughts that trail in meetings
the silent bell for lunch rings

funny faces and looks across the room
listening, but I'm still not here
here, but I'm not listening still

' agree, Calvin
reality continues to ruin my life too 

Auto pilot

Let there be soundlessness
Let there be silence of the pin drop kind
Let there be spaces filled with vacuum
Let there be a single white cloud hanging without rain on the horizon.

Conversations stuck in people's throat
Concentration on mindless games & chores
Covering every bit of time people have
Not even a gap, a slit, a crack
There's a lot on the autopilot's plate.

good night

the dark bleeds silent tears
the silent tears evaporate into thin air
the air gets sultry

the life bleeds hope
the hope evaporates into complacency
the complacency gets too much

another day

5th June '10

'don't you ever stop writing!' ...someone had told me..

I wish i'd never

But 'they' left me

the spirits, the writing spirits..

no frenzy grips me now

no words come to caress my soul

nothing

in a bubble but not blind

in a pool but the heat gets to me still

an elemental change is happening..

or has it happened already?