The woods has memories
The flaxen sun plaited into the canopy of greens
Playful feet dipped in the cool stream
Lilac wildflowers witnessed their promises
The woods has memories
The trees whispered her name
He raged against the tree bark
Broken knuckles, virgin blood
The old well filled with tears
Covered by mossy sorrow
The woods has memories
A lost boy mourned his love
trapped in the woods
stuck in the loop of time
The trees whispered their names
Newness
We sat through
the silence
of the cold sea
in darkness
to embrace the sunrise
She clothes us
with her warm glow
and eternal energy
A new day is born
in her majesty
A Hard Time
It’s hard to write about beauty when surrounded by despair.
A woman is trapped in her flat
for fearing to be found by her perpetrator who has been released from custody.
A man couldn’t afford to pay rent because the persistent rainy weather renders him jobless, and the pending doom of being evicted and losing custody of his children.
An old man had to put down his companion dog because he couldn’t afford the vet bill.
A disabled teenager mourns the passing of her mother, also her only carer.
A young man sinks into deep depression and anxiety because of the hormone therapy side effects.
The stories and events go on, and of course there are also wars which were started by people who bear no guilt of murder.
It’s hard to write about beauty, or see the beauty in the overladen ugly, sometimes.
#cassaquote – 43
The things I say will be held against by public opinion.
The things I think will be held against by the judgement of my Creator.
This Is Not About Fashion
People romanticise the rain
He wishes he could be one of those people
But he has no work if it rains
It has been raining a lot this autumn
He is already behind on rent and bills
Who would have thought that thieves would rob the down trodden
His flat has been ransacked empty
The Neighbourhood Centre gave him some non perishable food
Winter comes early this year
He needs a padded jacket to fend off the chilly mornings
He also needs underwears and socks
There is a dilemma in Kmart menswear
But given the priority of necessity
He is going commando
Tortoise
I stop looking into myself
Introspection in vain
for I am a hollow man
There is a spiral
of nothingness
pecked out by crows
How do I escape
this ebony heaviness
Folding myself further
into a pool of tar
is suicide by default
In the end
I am bored of the wollow
So I stretch myself
and look outside again
The light is unchangingly
there
and the fullness
is outside of me
We Can Have It All
The fortune teller
makes their living
on men’s curiosity
The weather man
makes their success
on men’s insecurity
Amazon Yesterday
makes its fortune
on men’s impatience
But when men build
the kingdom of God
which transcends time
and space
The Artist
Heaven plops
blobs of paint
on a quiet morning
like a canvas ready
to receive creation
The still lake
holds up the sky
like a verdant earth
props up the easel
The brush strokes
of the autumn wind
depicts a love story
for a daydreamer
to savour
Emotional Reasoning
Everything is spinning
out of control.
I rather be angry.
In that way,
at least,
I can do something
about whatever
that is eating me up.
The alternative
is sadness,
and that renders me
powerless.
It surely
will finish me.
Phase of Life
The realisation that I am getting old and tired comes from the cynicism. Many things once were adventurous and exciting, now are like chores.
Taking a walk in the light rain is overrated. Nursing a cold afterwards kills all romantic notion.
Love making on the beach is overrated. Dealing with cleaning the collected sand is a chore of the century.
Staying up to watch the midnight firework at a vantage point is overrated. Fighting a spot to lay on a picnic rug to wait for hours to watch the fireworks is time consuming and value inapt.
Real comfort now comes from resting a cuppa on my gut and watching true crimes in my pajamas.
Flicker of Thoughts 