Author: Patrick Jennings

I travel, when I can. Write, when inspired. Photograph, where there's beauty. Oh, and I play a decent didjiridu.

Sharp Left

There are times in life
When a sudden change in direction
Is strongly indicated

Flames trailing flaring
fender. Accelerator
down, slicing the wind.

Sometimes, it seems
Life just keeps throwing curves
And every step of the way
Seems uphill
Or into the wind

Still…

“Travelling South East Asia,” he said
“You’ll wake up every morning
And have no idea
What the day will bring.”

There are places
Of peace and tranquility

Where the sounds of water
Lapping at your canoe
The trill of a loon
And a child’s laughter
Splashing in the lake
Become a presence

Massive
Gravitas
A monument to concrete and steel and glass

My mind is where I go
To escape the tragedy of feeling

Getting there
To a place without feeling
I find a wasteland of being
An emptiness
In the midst of plenty

Like hummingbirds
Carrying thimblefuls of water
To extinguish a bonfire

“Patrick! Don’t touch that!”

After which two things happened: I looked at my mother, and I touched it.

There is nothing quite like
The way a child takes comfort
In water