i found myself reading
the words of Bukowski
as he describes a series
of meaningless moments
aspects of a journey
seemingly trifling
prosaic and unremarkable
in the manner recounted

a bus stops at a cafe
in the hills
lightly touched by
a newly-falling snow
of food and coffee
he says both were good
the waitress rare
the cook effervescent
the dishwasher commodious

as the snow swirls
beyond the window
he describes the scene
as beautiful but curious
certain it will forever
be beautiful in that way
he wished to stay
yet returned to the bus
nonetheless
when the driver beckoned

the other passengers
spoke or read or
tried to sleep
and none had noticed
the beauty of that moment
that something could be
so poignant to one
while being mundane
to others
is worth remembering
i guess

Smile, guarantee
No problem with serendipity...
A local house of music and dance, a sharing means
That has the time, to look and see you will be

A promise on top of a hill
Waiting on the first, to live better
Than causes question, the anger of misery still
But to know a faring friend, in scope and letter...

Sweet, goodness
The favors of proper sunshine
To tell a different story than mercy in legend, do attest
The coming hope we due, to liberty, has the voice of time

Picking the best, the wages of a windy day
To these, there is a lived few, fury in the known
Has begun here, to truthful many and their save
We are cares in the needs of more, than a virtue to lonely, come

Sameness, guidance
Welcome to the home of sense, a heed to collect ours
That has the silence for a moment's reward, to advance
We know you, the measure of simplicity to fend for ideal powers

So tender, so without pain
Of remembered gestures and vexes, that seem to be
The fate of anarchy said, the wishes we tell were all of same
All of shared names and the told season of fame, that is our such's lead

I’m a glutton for attention.
For the mention
Of my name.
Please, just prove
My existence is real.
Say that I matter.
𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳
Say that I matter!
𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳

I. Don’t. Need. You.

But I do, I really  do.

Is there a fundamental truth in following the old and the precedent;
When the only thing that is constant is change?

Don't it so...
After the plan, a wholly made can...
For the salt of the seen, a caring woe...
A happening place made, with also and...

Person
In the arms of dismay, is an hour said
Or is being a choice made, in lots to be, won?
With the worlds we invest, a care in lead...?

The stone of freedom
Today, is the silence of justice, broken for a time
To know a callous share, the irony of a question
Meant with a smile's cope, and harmony to become, trying

Whether amid seldom or comparing rarity to obligation
We have ours, an appetite of simplicity, keeping a noble prophecy
A redoubt to the ends of the ear, if not the bests of listening
All of due couth, and the promises to know youth, we mean...?

A world of sincerity with an eye for summation
And to a deed in love, with scope for a mightier future
Where one day, with sense beyond any other, condition
Well, is ours for a song, given the places and faces of needs, more

it seems whenever i read
of these monumental
astronomical events
annular or total eclipses
planets in alignment
a radiant of meteors
as grand in magnitude
and meaning
as hyperbole will allow
that i am never able
to truly witness
or fully appreciate
the wonderment
that others have claimed
these spectacles always occur
on the other side of the planet
or at a time of day
that makes the divine insignificant
mundane and barely noticed
despite the significance
assigned in theory
this clamour for
once in a lifetime opportunities
will inevitably be missed
leaving me with
a sense of aimlessness
and distraction
until i read
that experts claim
this occurrence repeats
approximately every
ten or so years

Sense of a sulking
Light to favor the window
The rose of unity in passing
Has a question to its lips, the corners of woe?

Having a seat in such a chamber
Requited history to assume a table
Of friends of airs, the toil of another world
Once in love, twice a gifted artist, another time and a fable

See the heat I make, when sight has a call
To require adage, from the poise we know
To ends in a prophet's hands, the tale of all
And every fate of shall, the world have those?

A glass of wine...
And summation is a harrowing gone missing
The truth to be held, for an austere shine
As we see the composure of sin, sigh when is

Include me in the pout, the pout of sincerity
Where one more kindness, has a moment to consider
Serpents of long teeth, that savor the taste of need, visionary's?
And abated breath, the comment I make is meant, here...

Where art has a clue...
To vices charity, an instinct that also has chaste due
When the mirth, the homage, the drama of younger and older who
Is but a catch of light, on the silence we bare, is our promise to...

i felt a presence as i walked
past its shadow between
restless sunbeams and
lazy dark patches

too small to fill a stadium and
too light to resist a breeze,
it could not muster the most
muted sigh of thunder

still, it singled me out from acres
of trees and multi-laid squares
of rooftop hide-aways

and followed—

to send a message of being
to an insignificant recipient

through a small break within
divided thoughts, into a brief
opening underneath—

a single drop, into a
downpour of
tears




"the cloud"
© 2008 by Seranaea Jones
all rights reserved