A woman, sitting.I see you, sitting on your lonely bench in your lonely corner of the park. Your suit is grey and the sky is grey, like iron, like your poise: left arm crossed over your suit jacket, knees and ankles pressed together, your right arm rigid, holding your smoking cigarette. But colour breaks up the grey. The soft brown of your hair, straight, brushing your padded shoulders, the dusk pink of your lips, the same colour staining your cigarette, like a flower newly bloomed. You're angry, and I wonder why, consider approaching, to make you happy. I consider clasping your hand and moving your arm away from its protective place across your middle, or brushing my fingers against your knee encased in transparent tights. Perhaps you would let me taste your lips and your cigarette, and smell your perfume and whatever shampoo you're currently using, perhaps, perhaps.I see you, on your morning coffee break, braced against the chill. Perhaps you forgot your coat on your office chair. Perhaps you storme
Your Lonely Heart Is MineRemember days in Nowhere Landwhen I thought I knew you well?We built a bridge to foreverand a house of promises and plans,with decks of cards and notebookson foundations of dreams and ashes.(Perhaps I should have studied architecture,to know how to build to last)At times I think of you as being just words-beautiful or hurtful,melancholy or cold.But never more than just words,like those printed or scrawled on notepaper,tucked away in drawers and on shelves,between flimsy covers bound with wire or string.(The most important words are those left unsaid.There are so many left unsaid.)Why are you still here?You said you would go long agowhen I had nothing left to give,except time, and even then not much.You stopped waiting, didn't you?The train will never come.You're just like that ghost of a girl on the platform,sitting with her lost gazeand a face forever aged eighteen.The train will never come to drag youdown into a ravine (but you want it to).But don't resent
Autumn PoetryMeet me as November diesbeneath the rain-patterned skies.-Bring me a kiss - or two.Remind me why I fell in love with you.-Bring me snow and ice, wind and rain,a warm hand to release my fingers from pain.-Kick up the leaves, lay down the frost.Hide away the flowers of summer lost.-Steal my dreams of starting anew.Autumn, tell me why I fell in love with you.
Advice from Master ShaoAs the Spinda movesSo the grass on the hill flowsA beautiful danceAs the Swablu singsSo does the wind in the treesA beautiful songAs the LunatoneRises in the evening skyThe moon does alsoBreath as the breeze doesAllow the wind to carryYour spirit awayThe world always movesRegardless of what you doYou must also moveSing like the SwabluRise just as the LunatoneDance like the SpindaStop to enjoy lifeOr it will move without youAnd you will be lost
Sir Gawain and the Green KnightStay true to your wordIn the code of chivalryRide to meet your fateEAPINGame of the green knightAt New Year in Green ChapelWaits beheader's axeILDSEAnd peaks of mountainsIn search of it you will passNobody will writeOVELLAbout your journeyNever will you tell, for atDawn you will pay yourEBTo the challenger...Howering above your neckEternal sleep, life'sNDINGirdle as token:Righteous knight is still humanEven you can tryEvade death for honour's priceNow you bear a scar on yourECKing welcomes you backNo shame can the ruler findIn deeds of his knightNSPIRINGallantry and pureHeart: now all will wear green sash -Token of
HugConfirm that you love,feel warmth, safety, worthy, joy.All in one embrace.
Metaphorically SpeakingPeople are like books;full of stories and easilybroken at the spine.
Short and SweetWhat is this sweet lovebut a brief intermezzoon the stage of life.28th February 2016
Frozen StarlightSolid starlight beam,Precarious illusion,Photon Congo line.Each born of fusion,To squirm through desolate space,Die in my retina.
SurrenderThis bulletproof vestis mere muslin to your hands;strip on, strip on, love
Diwalifestival of lighta time for peace, hope and joydiwali magic©Phatpuppyart.com
i swear i'm donei am yours out ofhabit but habits can beeasily broken
GrowthI outgrew you likeI outgrew dolls, kids books and32 D bras.