Contentment
Pause
Breathe
Hope
Free
The mind
The load
Slow down
Rewind
Sit back
Intertwine
earn
Your keep
yearn
peace
Contentment
A place
A balance
An emotion

my eyes are drawn
to two seagulls
perched contentedly on
a ****-caked lamp post
nothing decorative
lacking flourish or accent
a simple narrowing pole
coloured inexplicably green
with gently domed cowls
that gulls and pigeons
seemingly frequent
marred by a combination
of cream brown white
for all i know
it could be
their own faeces
in which they stand
or it could be
weathered and aged
built up and dried in place
for days
for months
for years
perhaps even decades
never to return
to untarnished days
perhaps if the bulb blew
or the lamp failed completely
it might be restored
while it is repaired
but there is no
guarantee of that
and yet the birds
could not care less
they'll pay no heed
to that which is less
than perfection
treating this evidently
well-favoured resting place
the same as they would
an unmarred branch
protected amongst tree tops
or a dainty bird-bath
amidst the flowers
of someone's quaint garden

In the depths of verdant woods, whispers dwell,
Ancient trees stand tall, with stories to tell.
A tapestry woven with secrets untold,
The forest, a sanctuary for spirits of old.

Through dappled sunlight, gentle breezes stir,
As melodies of nature softly purr.
Moss-clad stones, witnesses of ages gone by,
Guarding the wisdom that time can't deny.

In the heart of the forest, silence is alive,
A hallowed hush, where wild creatures thrive.
The subtle rustle of leaves, a sacred hymn,
Echoing the harmony of nature's eternal whim.

Amidst towering pines and canopies above,
A place where the spirit finds solace and love.
The sunbeams, like leaves, gently cascade,
Inviting us to wander through nature, unafraid.

In the footsteps of our ancestors, we tread with care,
Respecting the balance, the fragile and rare.
For the forest is more than a mere collection of trees,
It's a sanctuary, a refuge, where the soul finds ease.

So let us venture forth, guided by poetic light,
Into the embrace of the forest, an ancient rite.
May we find inspiration in nature's embrace,
And honor its beauty, while we leave no trace.

a neighbour
plays saxophone
somewhere down the street
it sounds like
they are at
an open window
practicing scales
bursts of pieces
previously mastered
other segments
yet to be perfected
those standard exercises
again and again
with missed breaths
and off-note *******
building in complexity
but slowed down
beyond recognition
with their concentration
no doubt
seething at times
behind closed doors
as fingers refuse
to obey
not moving fast enough
assuredly enough
it should annoy me
it usually would
this distraction
while I try
to read or write
the stumbling repetition
of practice failing
to make perfect
but today
there is a calming
in the familiarity
of it all

He wanted a woman with curves
She was too self-centred
He chose one with pure skin
She was too sensitive
He got one with flawless hair
She was too cocky
He opted for one with a beautiful face
She was too rude
He went for a fair skinned one
She was too lazy
He switched to a chocolate skinned one
She had terrible cooking
He looked for a tall one
She was disrespectful
He went for a short one
Her temper was even shorter
In all this he learned tolerance
Now he accepts the perfect imperfections in people

Miss Fit ⚓

In the grip of despair, amidst famine and filth,
A glimmer of hope pleads for divine grace.
Whispers of remnants yearn for echoes to reach.

"I beg you, show me mercy!" I weep,
Like a fading ember, virtuous yet frail,
Burdened by a sorrowful world so deep.

Billions of souls inhabit this existence,
Some in lavish homes, others in wretched holes,
Yet for me, solace is scarce, no place for persistence.

In the terror of the masses, I find strange amusement,
At a gathering's stage, a speaker proclaims,
"If we embrace them, they'll steal our sustenance."

But in the same assembly, they hailed us as the leaders of tomorrow, the hailed us as the future,
How can this contradiction be? I ponder and wonder,
While poverty's grip holds tight, unyielding and sutured.

On shelterless streets, i fight for survival,
Searching for a chance, scavenging in strife,
A victim of circumstances, without a rival.

Oh, Lord! What awaits when night falls?
In this dark part of town, where darkness thrives,
Will I lie alone beneath the sky's angry calls?
Why am I forsaken and unknown to my kin?

I detest the wealthy, cursing their prosperity's bane,
Perhaps the speaker at the town hall spoke some truth,
How did they find comfort, while we endure squalor's chain?

Whom did they harm, whom did they exploit? I question,
Which commandments did they break to reach such heights?
Or did inherited wealth become my oppression's expression?

My forefathers, once prosperous but alone in their days,
Do their mistakes haunt me, a burden I bear?
Their debts pass on, and I become their pays.

Curiosity led me to the price of liberation's door,
The gods whispered, "No fixed cost, just surrender your soul,
Take what you desire, a loan to your core."

They promised a transformed life, with riches bestowed,
Claiming freedom and happiness beyond strife,
"Are you willing to abandon everything?" they bestowed.

"We are destined to fail," they mockingly declare,
My flesh meant for opulence, destiny ordained,
"Do you want to join the winning team and surrender your name?
Believe in me, surrender to me, abandon God's reign."

The speaker proclaimed that we are the future of humanity,
Perhaps there's a grain of truth in his words,
A voice distinct from the gods, untamed whispers untie.

I know a man who considers himself poor,
Yet possesses unseen wealth, profound and true,
Understanding want and deprivation, wisdom to explore,
Finding contentment in plenty or scarcity's view.

To trade one's soul for progress is too steep a cost,
Success must be earned, not acquired without due,
Claiming what's rightfully yours, forever embossed.

My greatest investors, my loyal and true son,
No debts to repay, just unconditional love,
His path, His price, the sole endeavor to pursue,
Dearest one, the noblest venture is honoring me and every other thing shall be added to you.

it's five o clock
yes in the morning
birdsong has woken me
an hour and a half
before my alarm
was supposed to
even after another
terrible night's sleep
to-ing and fro-ing
with tossings
and turnings
staring into the blank
of ceiling and wall
not enough comfort
or perhaps too much
on this slumped mattress
to slip deep enough
beyond those initial
stages of slumber
down into REM
i'm surprised to find
i'm not as angry
nor as drained
as i thought i would be
at such premature awakening
i can lie still
untroubled for now
contentedly listening
to the chattering
of these feathered neighbours
an avian symphony
of movements manifold