Now, whose day could he ruin today? Mrs Smith? She never cleaned up after her dog. Mrs Khan? She gave him a funny look when he walked by. Yes. Jimmy Mackenzie. He’d show him. He opened a new document, clutched his chest. His neighbours peered in through the window.
I hear my words in my voice
I hear my words in my voice.
Of course.
But if you then roll them round your tongue,
smooth sour sweet pebbles of thought I have,
are they still mine or are they now yours and yours only?
There lies the man who will not hear his words
repeated by another.
He closes his ears and eyes.
Another’s interpretation must be
of and in itself
a wrong one
and this dissonance will misshape the future.
But I am willing to take a risk.
Words past written are the past
and your voice overtaking is just one of many.
I shall sit and record and listen and wonder
and perhaps never write again.
I was your jumper
I started off as your jumper, your sweater, you pulled me over and held me tight.
Then too soon I was a single sock at the back of the drum.
Selfie
You walked up to me, put your arm around my shoulders and snapped a selfie. You’ll be famous one day, you said, and I’ve got my photo all ready. It’ll be everywhere. And away you walked.
Together, holding hands
Together, holding hands,
They went to sleep
And, in the morning,
Did not wake.
Love is
Love is trousers and apples,
sand dunes and sky,
love is everything there is or that will be.
Love is all, and nothing is but love.
Love you.
Year of blood, year of ice
The year of blood stretched its weary limbs. Clots dripped in the half-light.
The new year of ice bared its teeth. They are mine now, the wind whistled. And they have done it all themselves.
But in one corner, one quiet corner, the green and yellow nestled. It would take time, a long time, and human touch and heat, but the blood and the winter would come to an end. That time was coming. Hope could be felt.
Three pieces for new year 2017
Old year melts slowly.
New year sun smiles and stretches.
Every year, new year.
*****
New year makes me laugh.
Same as the old one. Always.
Same days, same seasons.
*****
Here comes the autumn.
Always following the summer.
Or is it the spring?
2017
Peace.
Make happy.
Save something.
Or someone.
Be satisfied.
Do the thing there is no time for.
Thank with feeling.
New year always.
Three pieces about the shortest and longest days (2 by me, 1 by Karina Brink)
The shortest day beckons sunlight.
The darkest night is before the dawn.
The path ahead may be through the shadows
but even this will pass.
***
The longest day brings an abundance of light.
Banishes all darkness & shadows.
At night, short & sweet:
Only dreams
Of hope.
***
Dreams of colour, splintered light.
The darkness behind the mirror leaves us with the shortest night.
And hope slow burns.
Honoured to share a page with Karina Brink @KarinaMSzczurek
simonsalento 