I watched a young couple signing conversation as they ate lunch, and then they paused. Their hands fell still, and they smiled at each other. I doubt that anyone else in that cafe existed for them.
its wreck half sunk
in frown and wrinkled lip,
mocked the heart
and fed despair.
There boundless bare
on level sands,
for Magpie Tales. Poetic Form Found/Syntex Method Concordance (“and” ++2) and then remixed, from Shelley’s “Ozymandias”
Six More Random Thoughts
There isn’t time for falling to pieces,
so I wear clothes to match the colour of weather.
I believe in small things — autumn fog that ramps
over the bay, brown scuffed shoes, grey hair, and dust.
The wind drones on like sorrow, chops away
at everyone’s day like grey sheets on a clothesline.
I watch the world grow old, subscribe to the laws
of the wise and weary, where a nap is mending.
I’ve never seen a buck, ‘though they exist,
just as I’ve never seen a star – only its light.
There’s a steady silence when I walk, a noise-
less hike, and I cross into an unwalled space.
Wordle words for #237: piece, bucks, hike, law, match, ramp, drone, cross, chop, bay, see, believe
Yesterday’s Yet to Arrive
I sealed yesterday
in an envelope.
Mailed it to myself.
That was last week.
for Prompt Night.
Bells jingle on horses,
and feather hats.
They are blind to the reins
in noiseless glitter of sun.
This is a Found and Remixed poem taken from the text of “The Masses Publishing Company”, Vol 1, No. 1, Jan 1911 “Must It Be So?” by Leo Tolstoy. The original is viewable at The Masses.
You Never Expect the Unexpected
The lights have gone out.
Three AM. No power. Again.
It seems darker than usual.
And I can hear my heart thump.
Darkness. As silent as that
reflection on the wall. From
a mirror. A street lamp. A dim glow,
like that feeling when you
wake after a restless night.
My fingers search the silence,
and the black and the muteness.
Reaffirming touch; the light switch.
Nothing. Is it, I wonder,
that the lights are out,
or has my life run out? And then
my mobile phone rings.
It must be hell,
if mobiles are allowed.
written for Margo’s Lights Out prompt