In apparent silence,
Raindrops play their music.
I look at the strings of stretched water
Before they touch the soft, damp ground.

Fog has covered the distant hills.
The Spirit of those Mountains
Existed only in the past chants
Of those who, without bodies,
Return to their abandoned homes
As a breath on a wet glass.

I don't know their language,
But I hear their words:
The fog,
The rain,
The hills
And memories
Hidden in the soothingly cold rocks
And streams of clear water.

I cut out a piece of earth and sky
I've always been sad to leave that place.
I stay a few moments longer,
Before walking ahead
I drink the peace,  
I eat the rustle of the wind,
Absorbing the steady pattern of raindrops.

I long to be invisible
A drawing of the unearthly landscape
And come back here endlessly
After long absences.
In the green valley,
Immersed in the rain
Where I leave and find myself
Again,
Again,
Again…

Gravitational Arc, my debut poetry collection, is now available in paperback and on Kindle!

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FQ46FNR6

Boats
on the horizon.
The sun
is painting the vessels
in the colour of

longing.

I will tell you without talking.
Let you feel without the words.
Words can have meaning
but can also be empty.
Like noise in open air.
Do you hear me reciting
poems
about the love
that I have deep within.
Just by looking at you
precious being.
Will you let me in.
Let me in
where there is room for voiceless whispers,
like soft breezes from the wind.
I will lift you up without sweet talking
Lift you up to a place of enchanting things.
Where doors will open to Shangri- La
inviting you to stay.
Hold you close without saying what eyes so openly give away.

Let us go together
To be consumed by all consuming fire.
Let ember sparkles find their way.



Shell ✨🐚

Peter Granger
7:02 PM (2 hours ago)
to marshalgebbie45, Denis, Dave, Peter

By Piddles Granger

In our little town, permanent attire is dressing-gown,
outsiders find it impossible to believe
Most believe we is abnormal, nonetheless preferring informal
Dressen' gowns are our clothing motif

Its their unappreciated beauty, specially for us with big-*****
the deception is made at each weigh-in
concealing a multitude of sins, its a fashionista win-win
creates an illusion even when public tennis playin’.

Its the classic wrap-around garment, conceals unflattering enlargement
a truly remarkable master of disguise
not an opposite-*** attractant, au-contraire a comatose relaxant
its a virtual cold shower for most red-blooded guys

Made of quality chenille, has such a sensuous feel,
with hundreds of Pantonian skins
pastel ripple pink is my favourite, but high-vis is also made of it
its unmistakable as street-ferrying trash bins

Whilst the gown is entirely inflammable, near open fires dont be too casual
one percent natural fibre improves its aeration
If the belt-knot comes adrift, one’s inside package may shift
but on a hot day providing much-needed ventilation

When it comes to arthritis, swollen ankles and phlebitis
provides gown-length that perfectly suits
it will always be low-down, ever so close to the ground
without ever concealing those treasured ugg boots

Unfortunately, dressen' gowns and cosmetics do not equate to chick magnets
the two being completely incompatible
when venturing beyond one’s own premises, socially unacceptable skin blemishes
in some quarters have become ever so fashionable

PG