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grumpy thumb May 2017
scrolled shavings
feather light
take flight
captured on breeze
in graceful fall.
skinned by deft hand
working the blade
whittling dormant shapes
made awake
with each stroke
of sharp edge
upon wood.
I'd watch his rough
hands move
with an unassumed dexterity and gentleness
born from experience
of one gifted in perceiving the form hidden from all eyes
but his.
This time bringing to life
a song thrush resting on a rock.
grumpy thumb May 2017
Hush,
the day's resting
night's emerging
earth's silently revolving
measurements of time are
peacefully shifting.
grumpy thumb May 2017
She brushed the ash off her jeans, though managed to rub some in.
She separated the roses from the weeds, but a few petals ended up in the bin.
She tried to let him down gently, yet she managed to bruise his heart.
She is full of good intentions, but sometimes her plans fall apart.
grumpy thumb Apr 2017
Caught in the drag of traffic
meandering a.m.
under cataract eyes of street lamps, parallel to shopfronts despondent.
Bleak slate clouds overhang
sullen and brooding with rain
through which we drive
listening to indicators
tutting each turn
as if they witnessed some moment of shame.
the wipers toss aside windscreen diamonds
like
reminders of treasured times
squandered.
An ache without physical pain
We e-rode away.
grumpy thumb Apr 2017
You can have such a true love
one you love complete,
but the one you love the most
Won't always know what you mean.
grumpy thumb Apr 2017
Lurking in a sullen snug
hiding away from eyes of the good
except the occasional ones
of a waitress who acknowledges
his order
with a nod
a momentarily glimmer of light
from neon reflecting sparks of life
between exchanges of glasses,
empty for full.
The change lands on the table  
dull as a labour's boots.
Sometimes here he writes
of worlds too fine for spoken words.
In the wakefulness of day
they are crumpled, discarded, shredded and burned.
Who'll listening if he could,
but speak as he wrote?
But there's nought.
grumpy thumb Apr 2017
The walls are sick of looking at me
as I try to explain
why I love the rain
as twilight wanes.
A hunching shadow's long sigh
waited for darkness
to swallow troubles
hardly worth the pain,
wondering when I last felt
some kind of good
or if I would
again.
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