Today is the day
I am chosen and lifted
High up from where I lay and
Threaded through that small hole
In your ear.
Jingle, jangle, cling.
Beads or brass or sunny glass,
We swing with each way you turn your head
****** it’s a sight
Gordon Bennett, what a delight
Gentle shuffling sets us swaying
The Sunday morning music
Is playing as we dance
About your lobes
And the smell of coffee
Rises, splendid.
With each sip
We glimpse the ceiling,
Too and fro about the kitchen
Rhythms that are trodden daily
Outside in this luscious garden,
We flutter,
Somewhat wildly,
Chattering, as a gust of wind
Pronounces itself unexpectedly
Vibrations.
Buzz, shaking us aggressively
The sewing machines hum
Chugs relentlessly
Fingers creating elegance deftly
We clang and clatter
With movements of laughter
Bouncing brightly in good company
Hearing new stories and
All the old ones again.
Back in the bedroom,
We’re slipped off
Buried in palm
And placed back down
For another day.
Nov 16, 2022
Nov 16, 2022 at 8:01 PM UTC
Today is the day
I am chosen and lifted
High up from where I lay and
Threaded through that small hole
In your ear.
Jingle, jangle, cling.
Beads or brass or sunny glass,
We swing with each way you turn your head
****** it’s a sight
Gordon Bennett, what a delight
Gentle shuffling sets us swaying
The Sunday morning music
Is playing as we dance
About your lobes
And the smell of coffee
Rises, splendid.
With each sip
We glimpse the ceiling,
Too and fro about the kitchen
Rhythms that are trodden daily
Outside in this luscious garden,
We flutter,
Somewhat wildly,
Chattering, as a gust of wind
Pronounces itself unexpectedly
Vibrations.
Buzz, shaking us aggressively
The sewing machines hum
Chugs relentlessly
Fingers creating elegance deftly
We clang and clatter
With movements of laughter
Bouncing brightly in good company
Hearing new stories and
All the old ones again.
Back in the bedroom,
We’re slipped off
Buried in palm
And placed back down
For another day.
A poem for the passing of my Nanna, Anna
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