#unstructured
i’m not really ready and so i am preparing to learn how to hate you.
i day-dream maybe,
less visuals, more fantasising,
my mum asks me to come over,
just to help out with the housework,
and i will, on the condition that she picks me up and drives me over,
and i don’t mind being paid by not having to pay when i should,
to skip the two dollar bus fare,
or the ten dollar taxi,
let another control where i go, for free.
i’m not really ready and so i’m a little turned-off lately.
i hope you never notice,
and funnily enough,
i don’t think you will,
despite usually claiming the opposite,
you ignore what discomforts you i think,
well, so do i, so do i,
we are still the same,
i wouldn’t think i’m above you,
just further to the left, further ahead,
this journey, this life,
still runs slow for us all.
Nov 22, 2025
Nov 22, 2025 at 4:58 AM UTC
brick on the street.
the wind is a wall, you know,
the cars have been watching lately,
when it’s daylight,
the asphalt sticks,
the pathway is quicksand,
the trees sway and listen.
people have the faces of predators,
you can see your own,
paranoid.
why can’t you go to the cinema?
sit in a cafe alone?
they scoff and giggle,
clawed nails covering snorts of delight.
the bricked path is surely a stable one,
unease sets- moulds like
concrete with sugar in,
if the world is a cage,
you’ve carved out a smaller space.
claustrophobic? trapped?
or maybe safe, secure.
you step inside the gate
and remember,
it stopped the wind once.
Sep 4, 2025
Sep 4, 2025 at 12:55 AM UTC
I thought afar, yet never wandered.
Always saw that what I never watched.
For the distant blaze, I brought forth the horizon.
But, the landscapes turned to patchwork swatches all at once.
By Speare you drove your votives,
That which was a work of prose.
By reality, it was as an artist's pose
On a good kind of love.
For a lover is a writer,
Whether with ink & quill
Or lead & wood cylindrical.
For a lover is a writer,
Whether with chisel & stone
Or dynamite & the mountains.
Whether they write in constellations
Or draw in the sand on the beach,
Time it will take us.
For time, it shall take us.
But, in time,
Will there be that which is loving?
What say the scars unseen?
The deep peaks & valleys cut?
That which you etch
Without ever touching it?
Apr 17, 2025
Apr 17, 2025 at 12:54 PM UTC
Some may think it odd
to see me outside
dancing around
with the wind as my guide....
Feb 27, 2020
Feb 27, 2020 at 1:36 PM UTC
*Dear mind
Let me be me
You have expressed
Let
Me find the words
Dear Mind
It's my turn
Don't jump
The queue
Then
The thoughts go wild
And askew*
Jun 13, 2017
Jun 13, 2017 at 5:35 AM UTC
Looking for inspiration
For Empty Thoughts
Befitting Words to Fill
Empty Mind
Nothing to Fill
Don't have apple trees
No , I am not Newton either :))
Do have a few Coconut
Trees with
Fruit in abundance
No No No.....No
Don't want
Such inspirations ;)
Have a loving husband and
Two naughty boys to tend to :))
Jun 8, 2017
Jun 8, 2017 at 7:05 AM UTC
DO YOU HEAR THAT RATTLING?
That's the sound of a half-empty spray can,
full of hope, just being blasted against a wall
that will never appreciate it's art.
This is the kind of thing that
turns a hard heart into marble
to carve your masterpiece into.
DO YOU HEAR THAT RATTLING?
That's the sound of a half-empty spray can
of whoop-ass
about to be unleashed upon the masses,
who thought they could divide the classes
and make our lives seem like less
as if it would make their's seem like more.
I've got a little shocker kept in store,
life does not open doors,
it closes them.
On the tapestry of Canada,
there will be those that hem us in.
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 8:04 PM UTC