Just saying…what I see.

I was asked to look at this picture and write, in exactly 100 words, what came to mind…it’s written below.

How do you grow?

If earth be left adrift
like rotten wood and
soil be soiled in salt?

Did science foresee
that beauty
could breathe life
by silhouette?

Maybe yet; an Artist

chalking in night
the boldest moon – so bright
that single stars dance

Their chance for the limelight
taken as he brushes –
tapers in shades
of dampening cloud

So loud they cry; look at me
it is I, that shines for you

He keeps concealing
dreaming what secrets
are hidden in leaves

Fury bursts with bright
and he smiles.

His boldest piece; black –
grown without soil
bathed in light

My Favourite Thing, I Saw Today

I saw this and fell about laughing. Loved it….and thought it might cheer you all up, too. That’s if you need cheering up. If you don’t, well…read it anyway.

Lullaby Of The City.

The rustle of a carrier bag
with footsteps
What do you scream for?
A car drones by.

Voices of merry men.
Click
click
click, scuff
feet in heels.

Leaves dancing on cold ground
tapping with
words that cannot be heard.

Metal.

The clash of metal against metal.
Cars drone by
white noise.

Bang! A wolf whistles.

The hum of a something
Cars and cars and cars

Drunks

drunk as a skunk.
The sound of drive.

Quiet and then cars
cars and cars and cars

Always cars.

Sleep city, sleep.

You never sleep.

Booked Up For Lunch

You can’t stand ignorance
but spell it incorrectly.

Thirteen books on the table, stating the fact.

Open their pages to
own the words.  Make them dance
the Foxtrot.  Do the Fandango with a Cha-Cha-Cha

Fact

dripping in true, unadulterated English
staining the cloth.  Burning wisdom into wood.

But you won’t understand
whilst they are wrapped.

Trapped.

Playful eyes on a Playboy cover
stare up
from the bathroom floor

She knows. And laughs

Fact.

You can have that one for free.

There’s a cure for indigestion.  Go to the table
find your place.

All you have to do
is eat.

Lovers, Crossing Stars.

Let’s meet at a quarter to three
sail the seven seas

in a shoe

I’ll budge up, make room.

Let’s swig red wine from the bottle.
Socks’ll go and from your toe;
a fishing line.

We can cook what we catch, the
heat from a match…
our fire.

Burning desire.

I’m a little giddy, thinking
about that.

Just don’t make it a fish.

Catch a wish
make us fly
casting white shadows
over night.

This night.

And together,
we’ll guide in the ships.

Wasteland.

In the wasteland of gibberish, winds burn

with intrepid ambiguity

working with the insolent sun to turn

tides on conformance.

Monstrous waves of compliance

hit hard on the walls of creativity

using it’s longevity to erode

the spirit in cement.

Expectation is floundered

in it’s perilous voyage

as the sun bursts with individuality,

leaving caution to drown and lie

on the ocean bed.

Dead.

And shining bright

a sky littered with stars

for all the world to see

whilst budding enthusiasm

plants roots in the long forgotten

soils.

Ready to feed.

Take A Bow.

 

I hang up my boots
string them up
along
next to me.

Take a leave
of my senses;
too powerful for contemplation,
reflection – too ugly a beast
for your eyes.

And mine.

Because I don’t know how to pen
the power of a single word,
with your success.

Tears would only
blot the page,
spoiling the letters that
I tend to;
Crafted with too much
ridiculous heart.

And so

It is with that ridiculous
swollen heart
that I bid you well

Take a bow

and say goodnight.

Through The Eyes Of A Gun.

Impulse

desire

one hundred pounds of fire

power

raging

witness fear disengaging

rapidly

cocked

for destruction and locked

vision

entreating

bullets now excreting

cries

ringing

on deaf ears singing

words

pleading

to stop this bleeding

execution

lead

poisons desperate hearts. Dead.

Physically perplexed.

My friend Newton
had a theory
that clearly
I’d fallen for you.

I told him
how science scared me.
That words were what
I was about.

He said it’s not
just physicality.
Explained the force of gravity.
Attraction and its pull.

”But I don’t want to fall.”,
I told him,
and he just laughed all
that he could.

“You crazy old man. How
can a girl like me
believe, in a
world of so much tripe?”

He just held his sides
hysterically.
“Oh my poor, innocent love.”
He chuckled, holding me tight.

But I just frowned. Watched
him grapple.
“Forgive me, my sweet!”
He managed to speak,

“You can have my apple, if you like.”

Plastic Heart

It won’t bleed if it doesn’t beat and so
can’t excrete what you are hoping for.

It doesn’t break if it can take a
smashing and remain unmarked.

It doesn’t matter, it won’t shatter if you
give it back, unwanted.

Because you can’t hurt a plastic heart