SaTurDay TuRn bAck (14)

--------------------
this day: October 15 2006
--------------------
Written in red.


MMM... So much to say.. So many emotions.
In the commotion of it all.

Old times mixed with newness of growth and growing a p a r t.
Me
finding happiness and moving along.. the normalcy of a friendship when yesterdays are left in a field of fog... No attraction
actions..
Holding onto my promise and feelings of my heart of today surfacing. enjoying the moment. The win. The wind.

Craziness of screams and smiles, high fives of carelessness..
The resurrection of connection that has been lost.
For a moment, a night, a goodbye of sorts-
A conquered fear on my sidewalk..
An open door to friendship.

A good night, fun and innocent.

An amazing baseball game.
Love for understanding and letting me be free.
Be me.
She is beautiful.
I am lucky.

We all are if we consider it.

blank and tank

12-2-10

The White album. Like these scathed boots oh so tight. Today.
Like the blank canvas called
our sky-
scuffed only by the film on the glass.
I am in the tank.
We all are-
swimming.
Sea. Monkeys.
Urchins.
Searching for a wave. A current. Ripples on barriers.
Again.
All men-minus two. With intent six eyes play and I day. Dream.
With the smear of speed like the swipe of a thumb upon wet paint.

We are nothing more than a moment and this, not even a second
thought.

TEn tO tEn

10.2.10


I won't chase-
Sunshine of brothers being a beautiful glow-
shadows traced at the Idiot in the village. A blue blanket above and this moment.
awareness of that time before-

a pause

and a red circle-

a stare-
a lid pool.
gratitude for now.

Power of a flower and calmness of colour.

Dots and stripes.
Hype.
and a royal mail man.

Men.
Write.
Sleep.
Read.
Text.
Game?
Listen.
Lean.
wait.
only one other woman upon this sheet of tin.
Do I count? Does that mean two?
By two by four-

Building blocks.

Houses like those for dolls. Perfectly placed in patterns. Pillows fluffed. Hues so bright.

A seemingly spring day.
Daze.

Shaking train-
trained to press. The pavement-persistence-
with resistance-

passing with a lasso,

I see it.

I taste it.
Cherry sorbet along the horizon.

SunDay the SEvEnth

I always walk this littered road.
No Sunday solace to see-
Rusted can-
partial scarecrow man
and clothing hung in a tree.

Hub caps, bottle caps, wrappers, butts and bag-
thrown out the window
by passerbys
upon green shattered glass I lag.

Tires and tires and tiredly-
I tiptoe toward the start,
a heavy lock and an oxidized chain,
I beg not to fall a part
of me
is here and another bit is there
expectedly
within that realm of nothing but a tear.

A rip
her drips
on morning travels home-
Possessions stolen from her shoulder,
she chased them,
screams unknown.
Grassy blades, sharpened-
first night.
New box.
Blue door.
Chased through blinks and winks as I never have before.

Questioning it all-
my place
my breath
my choice.

No other option but the ink,
only this of rhyme and voice.


A pattern to distract
a journey-
yet another ride.
Frozen digits like fish fingers
and
in my shell I hide.

Red drivers press hard zooming,
pedal with jerk from either side-
I sway forth and back and a woman sits beside.
me smelling like wood,
similar to a hardware store,
I inhale and commit
to having a better day today than before.

Lady Lumber
minus slumber
Party on, I stumble.
With a shake,
a rattle
and a rasp-

and my soft Sunday stomach grumble.

SaTurDay TuRn bAck (13) delAYed

------------------
Another (delayed) Saturday turn back.
This day: 29-10-09
-------------------

A waiter by the window.
Yellow backpack.
A purse hunt /treasure dig.
Purple plastic of Tate.
Paper passer.
Heavy metal leather.

large S.

First inhalation.
Half circles above rectangles.
The Old Bell. Crowd awaits.
Hood court.
Arrow to the sky.
Big pumpkin.
Balls of steel.
Stained glass diamonds.

Built in 1624.
RAM.
WINE BAR in bigs.

A crunchy leaf.
"I never painted my own dreams."
Flyer taken.
The Coal Hole.
Stringy stairway,
The Strand.
Sequins.
Paper hat.
Trench.

All out the window.

fRidAy the fifTH

__________
Last
Fri
day
__________

No Rain, but suspect-
Proof in puddles and reflection of trickery.
Blind Melons for breakfast and my pocket (left) alone. Cheese and tomatoes take me.The last formality of a Friday,
in that space.

Down the stairs of slip, six. A bid of hopes of good and rush the usual way. The previously known to be- usual day.

Further disillusioned.. distracted.. cavity of resilience.
I finally remembered that word.

Resilience.

It sinks and stinks.
Familiar faces at the place so many times I stood a wait.
The usual woman.

Jet black hair, faux fur hat-shopping bags.
Long face-kind heart.
Like Tia Francesca. The bigger of the three.
I've noticed-her partial run across street...
Two-stride high. Knees..

Mother and son again-on the bone-she slept through a blockbuster. Hit. Me. In the face with

small beauties.

The patter of the droplets atop the bin.

The new absence of the wobbly brick.
That same school boy. Many times before.

Fish marketeers with treasures...
Not quite a Yogi float, but tolerate. Wait?
None for green.

Poles.. seats.
hear headphone cord.. Bright against the black drop
me off any time between here and now.
Calmly she sits, eyes closed. Hands crossed. Hair in place. She exudes calmness.
A porcelain doll... neural connection to Baby Blue.

And those blue eyes...

Blink.
Pink. Sheet on clothing line.. like a first bubble blown after several chews..

A first whistle lifting me from the extra gravity upon my mass.

I ride on and I hum that tune.

lost