Like a glove
For many fingers
Maths ties bows
On our thoughts

Logic governs
What can be
And what
Cannot

What cannot be
Is where we live
It is where we
Die

We are flowers
Holding onto the wind
We sway

The earth is turning
Our feet
From under us

Turning our feet into
Grapes

Sighs escape and float
down
Breath is the gateway

Sighs from the belly
Sighs from the throat

Lifting the chest
Throwing out the belly

A secret contained
Intercept the message

Now I beat my brow, and how.
She wrote this on her arm in the poetry workshop.
Poetry? That will never amount to apple crumble- a mumble, from a passer by.
Whose eye twinkled. Answer me. Whose eye twinkled?
It spake of the forlorn and well worn wristbands from picnics with wistful bands.
Coherent thoughts in liquorice all sorts
Amount
In the end
To noughts.
And crosses
on hot buns in the local bakery.
That one's spelt bread, b-r-e-a-d.
A whole army fed,
On the pep of a rally to charms,
Sound the warning alarms.
******* alert.
On the winding country roads,
Squishing toads
***** nilly.

What's that?
Too tired to think?
Two-tyred, so blink
“And you're there in a jiffy”
Said the giraffe,
For the laugh.

There are children there
And also, every which and where,
Boy do they stare
Unaware,
Without the slightest inkling of the remorse
That we learn to impinge in our gaze
An apology for existence,
“Just coincidence”

Slow-motion was developed over a thirty year period and involved gently and gradually tensing and relaxing various muscle groups. The stretches were not demanding and it did not leave a pain in her muscles for days after like exercise had in her youth. It left instead a warm glow.
The standing exercises were mostly on two feet but some involved standing on one foot. The imagination is incorporated and the astounding discovery that kept Daphne coming back was that if she imagined herself leaning on a table, she did not fall. It was difficult to maintain that imagining, and therein lay the exercise; mind, body and soul.
There were women and men in the class and they would chat afterwards but never during. Relaxing music (noises really) were played during the class and the level of concentration required made conversation nearly impossible. To converse would be to blow on a tower of cards. The longer the silence the taller the tower was built, but of course everyone breathes and everyone chatters nervously and so some sessions were indeed filled with whispered chats, sometimes while trying to touch one’s toes.
‘How are you today, Lisa’, whispered Daphne at such a time, ‘Very well thank you, I can’t actually reach my toes though, should I tell her?’ said Lisa, ‘Oh I don’t think so I’m sure she’s watching over all of us, though I can’t see her, my knees are blocking my line of sight’, Daphne replied, ‘Show off’ and Lisalaughed drily.
The music came in various themes: seaside, piano hall and forest. The forest were her favourite and comprised of bird song and rustling leaves. The piano was very generic and was too similar to the open door noise of her microwave to be particularly appealing.
The seaside songs featured the raucous sound of gulls which Daphne did not enjoy as she thought them to be a selfish bird. It seemed when she visited the sea that the gulls were always flying to whatever section of strand they fancied and cleaning the place out of small ***** and seaweed.

Where I stand will never be good enough

Where I go can never seem like home

When I go there i'll miss being home

Why can't I be satisfied?

Feeling comes in short, sharp stabs,
Kneeling make my girth swing around me,
Stretching up reveals the line of my ribs,
No one is watching.

You, who should, could
Be watching, from that chair, there.

The world has torn my world into ice cubes
Come crashing from a tray
Epidermis blistering from the sudden

Cold