room

our heartbeats float in whispers
dust motes pepper the air
the mottled mirror hangs askew
in it your reflection

I don’t know what you’re thinking
or even if you like me
you brought me here and now
you don’t know what to do with me

this room on the first floor
the world looking in
but you like it that way
you say you find the intrusion ‘cosy’

an overgrown cheese plant
artist’s materials on the floor
Matisse style work in progress cut-outs
all of your ‘things’

most likely I am just passing through
your life and your room
your body that you half give
reluctant as a virgin

and when you hold the door open for me
I walk down the narrow stairs
enter the street and look up
but your windows reflect only the sky

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A Conversation with Sand and Wind

hunkered down
in Gower dunes
on a stepping stile
of wind-blown wood
we sat
either / side
this wire fence
eating soup
and sandwiches
and remnants
of Christmas cake
with flying sand particles
that tinkled
tiny whispers
on our Gortex backs
from last year
to this year
or so it seemed

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https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/conversation/

early morning (snippets)

avoiding the early morning alarm call
we cram ourselves into each other’s warmth
beneath the blankets and unspoken words
hovering birdlike in thought in dewy air

~

so, shall I sing this morning in
or wait another while?

shall I steal your dreaming
or make you smile?

~

but I know not what leaps through your head
what early morning hopes and fears tease you
my own are whispered hints in search of life
words that will be lost far quicker than they come

~

so, shall I fly this feathered nest
or further line it with my guile?

shall I remain within your rest
or flee upon the raven’s mile?

~

if I had a way to record each word and song
every raindrop, blood drop, tear drop fall
would I compare them or leave them hanging
this one enduring moment won’t last forever

~

so, shall I sow
or will I steal?

shall I go
or shall I heal?

~

what shall I do?
oh what shall I do?

 

farewell

this waiting
hopelessly hesitating
every second counting
minute by minute

grains of sand falling
clouds passing
words whispering
hour by hour

time slowly passing
thoughts drifting
waves crashing
day by day

love and hate making
friends disappearing
it’s hard understanding
week by week

the seasons changing
waxing waning
thunder lightning
month by month

clocks are ticking
memories fading
our elders dying
year by year

the grass in the top meadow was cut last night
a warm breeze today will blow dry it into hay
this is the time for renewal and taking stock of our lives
for winter will soon be upon us…

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(I took this photo this morning about 8.30 and messed around with it using my editing software. I like the way it now looks as if it’s from a bygone age. All that’s needed are a few people in period costume holding pitch forks next to a donkey and cart. Sometimes we find old photos that have no date, names or explanation. They are glimpsed reminders from the depths of our anonymous past. Mysterious and magical moments to celebrate)

our place

we need to come a little closer
a little closer even still
understand what we are saying
the words    the meanings
the wherewithal.

we need to talk a little softer
whispers rather than shouts
understand our brothers and sisters
their cultures    beliefs
what makes them laugh out loud.

we need some more compassion
holding hands not dropping bombs
understand the fallout damage
in our minds    our hearts
our children’s wounds.

we need a new revolution
in a world that sets us free
understand our future evolution
peace    love    and unity
a lasting hope for you and me.

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(original artist unknown. From a display on Worthing pier May 2016, West Sussex, UK. Photograph by Colin Hill. I seem to have lost my thread of connections between posts and poems and lost myself in peace poetry. I guess the world needs some more of that right now. Where are all those 60’s poets when you need them most? Make love not war! Bread not bombs! Give peace a chance!)