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john-edward-smallshawPoems
It's always on a day like this When morning kisses me awake And I Upon the magic trip Slip into shirt and jeans. Then leaning into a cup of tea I open up the world to see The news. So many views (Not many likes) I choose to enter Exiting my door I fall away into much more Than commonplace. She looks nice A face I'd want to look at twice And so I do. A bus..a walk..a talk with Sanjay at the Paper shop Where I often stop to pass the time And then the park Stark A contrast to a month ago when the flow of leaves Became a river on the ground. Now Not a sound except the cracking of a nut A squirrel but it scampers up the bony tree. The day I came to see Has seen it all before The seasonal shift..the lifting light The shortest day and the longest night but to me it's new Or just another look at the same old view I decide And provide myself with the truth.
0
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 2:29 PM UTC
Thoughts locked up in Fridays.
It's always on a day like this When morning kisses me awake And I Upon the magic trip Slip into shirt and jeans. Then leaning into a cup of tea I open up the world to see The news. So many views (Not many likes) I choose to enter Exiting my door I fall away into much more Than commonplace. She looks nice A face I'd want to look at twice And so I do. A bus..a walk..a talk with Sanjay at the Paper shop Where I often stop to pass the time And then the park Stark A contrast to a month ago when the flow of leaves Became a river on the ground. Now Not a sound except the cracking of a nut A squirrel but it scampers up the bony tree. The day I came to see Has seen it all before The seasonal shift..the lifting light The shortest day and the longest night but to me it's new Or just another look at the same old view I decide And provide myself with the truth.
john-edward-smallshaw
Written by
john-edward-smallshaw
70/English
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 2:29 PM UTC
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