Apple or tangerine?

Apple or tangerine?

What should I eat this morning?

Is it important?

Will the wrong choice destroy my day?

Is there a way to tell the difference?

Is there a wrong choice?

Or am I wasting my precious
time casting doubts?

Or is this the path of purpose,
to see one’s choices as if they
matter in the details that make the
fibres and stitching of the grand scheme?

Have I figured it out?

Or is that my ego craving importance?

What if there’s-


Crap, I have to go.

Guess I’ll have the banana.


-
by Aleksander Mielnikow | Alek the Poet

I see love.
But I think they are just married.
With their piled plates and their.
Pancakes there.
Squeezed faces and head flicks.
Head flicks away from the groom's groomed hand.
This doesn't bode well.
Despite the pancakes.
In the value hotel with their soft luggage.
Eating pancakes as they check their phones.

was a sticky mess dripping slowly
down the broken walls of
what we called home, and i

the ever so buzy bee who hover
to stare from a distance remain
as my gut twists of hunger

for the continued days
of work: measuring the rooms
that would strategically contain

our— my, remaining efforts
in keeping this symbiosis a force
enough to drive through

the blistering storms and past
what you thought was the drought.
but this, is the fallout

where the flowers cease to bloom
and the sun grows weary
to shine on leftovers

of what we called was home
as honey drips ever so slowly
into a painful mess to clean.

Jack and Neil, Ran up to the hill
To get some fruit for breakfast

Jack climbed up a tree
Started plucking apples

Neil stood on the ground
Waiting for Jack and apples

An Apple Fell Down
Hit straight on Ground

And Jack also fallen after.
Both ran to pick the Apple

The Apple was found
Picked from the Ground

Both Jack and Neil
Changed their Mind

They took the single Apple
And came home thereafter

They Ate the Fallen Apple
And both smiled with laughter

I feel you
Slipping away
I know you'll
Write back but
Will it be too late
Eating pecans
And thinking
Of your face
Wishing I
Could talk to you
But not sure
What to say

Coffee
Rich and dark
Slowly spinning in a white cup,
Therapeutic aromatherapy
Creating a warm feeling
Even sophisticated,
A smell that sells houses


Breakfast
Sizzling, crackling into life
Taste-buds still blurred
From the grogginess of sleep,
Bacon and eggs
Like Morecambe and Wise
An inseparable odd couple


Newspaper
Folded and re-folded
Onto an article of vague interest,
Words from another world
Unimaginable, war torn, desolate,
Colder than the rain-washed street
Outside this café window


Cigarette
The first of the day
Smouldering between yellowed
Fingers moulded to its shape,
Smoke slightly burning eyes
That are awakening to
Another fragment of life