Nonsense
19 September 2024

i’ve little tide for nonsense.
My world filled with sands of time.
No patience for half truths.
Hazy glow of staled wine.

Yet where else can i hide.
BTW

I’m alone stuck in my head
we both lost track of what was said.
Here I write but you haven’t read,
please just come to bed.

Lost in translation starts a fight,
another disappointing night.
Not sure of much but sure we’re right,
come to bed and turn off the light.

Mind’s running laps but in a line,
avoiding barbed wire and land mine.
Determined to stay up to greet sunshine,
come to bed and it will be fine.

I’m alone stuck in my head
an impending sense of doom and dread.
I write in blue but you mark in red,
please just come to bed.

you're gone
all words
have turned to ash with you

There is still time
To have breakfast in bed
after we woke up
There is time to talk
Slowly
Carefully
Picking words which don’t hurt
We can still hold hands
Gaze into each other’s eyes
Be kind
Be nice
We still have time to laugh
Watch each other smiles
And be amazed
Everyday

It is not too late

I was a traveler.
She was a poet.
l visited almost half of the world.
She wrote about it.
I loved to wonder.
She was wanderlust.
I've been from North to West,
from Australia to Antarctica.
She saw them from her computer screen.
I loved her,
as much as I loved to travel the world.
She loved me as if I was the world..
or something. Though in my eyes,
she didn't even compare to the Eiffel tower
or the great wall of China.
She was much more majestic.
She said she could write about me all day.
I said I could explore every inch of her,
every day. And although I traveled everywhere
and anywhere you could imagine,
she was by far my favorite tourist attraction.
She was my world.
She was the whole world.
In a day.

I wonder if my cat knows
she’s helped me keep going
a few times
by just choosing to sit in my lap

The magnitude of words,
   Invokes to each a different response
     Many use this power for evil,
       And release it among the unsuspecting seeds
         Still growing, now exposed to hatred.
           It is then that they will decide
             If their sentences will be in malice like theirs,
               Or if in their hearts, repairing the reputation
                 Of beautiful language, is a better use
Of words.