FLUFF: Frequently, I discover words with hidden meaning, shining like coins in a handful of fluff, apple seeds and other down-the-back-of-the-sofa leavings. Some are too precious to share and I secrete them away. Others I spend cheaply on rigged slot machine verbiage. Mostly they sit waiting to be written usefully. Adding insight, lending moment to my day.
NONSENSE: Foraging amongst the dahlias For Cinderella’s lost slipper, I am Barbie magic made manifest, I am Germaine (sodding) Greer’s antifem, I am Super Mum with gumboots on.
ABSURDITY: The best nonsense is always spoken in the middle of the afternoon while heading north on a train bound for a smallish beige town, and so it was that the occupants of second-class carriage BG1754 found themselves gripped by a kind of eloquent hysteria as they rattled around the final bend in the tracks before the steep descent to the weatherboard station at Claggy Peat.
‘The lampshade on my head is for my bright ideas. I won't be able to convey them until Monday, when my curtain gets out of the dry cleaners.’ - Bauvard, Some Inspiration for the Overenthusiastic
Sweetness is — the sugar cube that glitters when sun ray kisses the crystalline surface like a thousand sparkling dots;
It is the strawberries I savor when you sat across me smiling softly and gave me the last one from your basket.
It is the bubbly feeling when I gazed at you, playing with our children — sparks in your eyes, a laugh leaping out of your throat.
It is the warm sensation flooding my chest, and filling every corner of my being, whenever you tucked me into your arms, and kissed away my tears, telling me I am the best thing that has ever happened to you.
something I wrote a long time ago, a rare, fluffy love poem I guess
I've doubted your passion towards me in the past my faith in the past my faith in our permanence was dwindling fast But as days go by, you drift closer to me and it's easier to see how compassionate you truly can be I'd don't want to have your babies I'd don't want to get married but I could see getting a dog with you maybe just maybe
I found this poem. I wrote it this summer in a notebook I bought just to wrote it into. I loved that **** individual. But we have gone our own ways, and he never knew I wrote poems about things like this.