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Mary Pear Oct 2017
Grey, looming sky so still.
So still.
No birds sing.
So still.
Leaves sit untouched, unfluttered, still; waiting for the autumn thrill.
No glowing colour yet, no crunch, no bite.
As yet no shivering chill.

Back stage; on hold,
No scenery yet, no music score, no clattering dance, no lights,
No fires, no muffs, no darkening nights.
Not yet.

A dull grey pause, a damp trudge home, a twilight time, a long slow dusk.
Drab leaves hang on as colours drain
Dour and dull in drizzling rain.

But every year the show goes on,
The grand finale takes the floor.
Impossibly, the dying leaves assert themselves and burst on stage
In glorious colours, bright and bold,
In ochre, yellow, red and gold.
Mary Pear Sep 2017
******* tastes foul in whatever sauce you serve it.
If you crave fawning flattery - you deserve it.
Oh no you don't! That line just worked to serve a rhyme;
A lie to fit my needs like oily flattery's slime.

Such falsehoods bury, smother, squeeze us into shapes
Of someone else's making; taking who we are
And shaping us in more convenient lines
To correspond with other people's ends;
Or try to mould us into current marketing trends.
Mary Pear Sep 2017
Come in! Come in!
And share my shed.
Come here! Come near!
It's clean and clear
Of all the mess, the flying dust, the stinking mud
The fear, the angst and all that crud.

Some lingers on, some lurks unseen,
Some hides in corners in my shed,
But I will hunt it out. I dread
The thought that in  my mind
A little speck of fear I'll find;
A crevice with a little spot
Of worry , or I know not what.

This shed has special walls that stretch
To take in all within our reach
And all that lies beyond our sphere
To bring the world outside right here
To this small space where we are seated.
Before this blazing fire our heated
Chatter ranges; opinion changes.
Thoughts explored, new stances taken.
Some we keep and some we ditch.
We've learned to change our minds and switch
Our egos off ( a litte bit!) and own that we might be mistaken.

My shed ? you guessed. It's in  my head
In that same place I've learned to shed
The thoughts that keep me from my bed.
The thoughts made up of stress and dread.
So join me now! Come in! Come in!
There's room for all, the walls are plastic.
You've got one too! Now that's fantastic!
Mary Pear Feb 2017
Sometimes my sky's  the ceiling of a planetarium dome
Enveloping my tiny world'
The moon hangs low-
A lantern for the streets
In our snow globe world.
And wrapped in local clouds by day.

Both eyes in play - the vision slips
and now I know the nearest star is countless  miles away
And Alice- like I shrink.
A camera, carried high sees me, my home, my town
Resume their truthful place upon the globe;
A dot, if that, a fleeting speck in time no more.
Look up and up and endless up, beyond the plastic dome
To endless possibilities and none.
Mary Pear Feb 2017
Step sideways into the void
Let that route be clear
And well-trodden.
When thoughts crowd and tumble, rattle and repeat
Take mind elsewhere.


Regroup the troops on higher ground
And from that plateau, survey mind's meandering,
Mayhem and futile floundering;
Rooting in dark corners for minor flaws, distracting itself with minutiae,
Retracing dead ends
Spiralling inwards
And all the while, shielding the eyes
From revealing light.


Pictures flicker and fade with no watchful eye to power the motion.
Let mind rest
And make a space.
Clear out the old, stale programme
And wait.
Be watchful.
See what arises.

Mind makes mischief and mind mends.
Mary Pear Feb 2017
In the still spaces between thoughts
Joy seeps in.
Mary Pear Jan 2017
The sun winks cheekily from behind a thinning cloud
And, like a great golden grin, gilds my day.
White light pulsates on the inner wall of my eyelids -
Mood lifting; warmth spreading; glorious light.
A faint breeze, feather light, lulls;
Softening the edge of the sun's heat.
Time drifts and thoughts linger
On the sumptuous sensation
Of a perfect morning.

A seagull screech brings the scene to life
and, with eyes closed, I look at the moment
and see the sounds arising.
Distant voices in the morning's  chatter and the rhythmic whoosh of waves.
I feel the touch of sound as my heart beat strolls now;
As my mind idly paddles at the water's edge.
I breathe in the tepid air ; it glides softly, slowly through my nostrils
Reflecting the ebb and flow of the sea without.
Rising and falling with the tide's swell.  

Limp limbs lie abandoned on the
Cushioned bed as each breath shallowly lingers, patiently anticipating the next.
No thoughts now.
Just image and sound and the sweet sensation of the intermittent breeze
As I float on a velvet sea of my own making.
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