What kind of person, with the power and resources to do so much for so many others, chooses instead to exploit them?
Tag: writing
So I listen
Some days
There’s just not that much to look at
There’s just not that much to look at
So I listen
I can close my eyes
On any day
And just listen
But I prefer the fog
It is easier
To imagine in darkness
To create a world of light
In my mind
Leaping into disorientation
Sometimes I get confused
Which way’s up
And which way’s down
Which floor am I on?
Which floor should I be on?
Which door should I take?
Should I have come in through that one?
Which way’s up
And which way’s down
Which floor am I on?
Which floor should I be on?
Which door should I take?
Should I have come in through that one?
Green Paint
I begin with the heavy grit, which takes long, deep scratches of paint with it, gouging down through the layers of paint.
In the tumult, find peace
On a cold, wet October afternoon
Howe Sound takes on the tone of slate
The wind blows hard
Straight up the channel
White caps breaking
Hair and camera strap fluttering
Howe Sound takes on the tone of slate
The wind blows hard
Straight up the channel
White caps breaking
Hair and camera strap fluttering
Sleeping Beauty
Sleeping in on a Saturday
Dimly aware of the presence beside me
Who kept me awake long after bedtime
Who jostled me awake throughout the night
Tossing in her dreams
Rising for a trip to the bathroom
Snuggling in with her stale perfume
As she’s just done
Tousled hair in my face
Tickling my nose
Along with her morning breath
Dimly aware of the presence beside me
Who kept me awake long after bedtime
Who jostled me awake throughout the night
Tossing in her dreams
Rising for a trip to the bathroom
Snuggling in with her stale perfume
As she’s just done
Tousled hair in my face
Tickling my nose
Along with her morning breath
Constant Change
I look over the mound
Of withering sandstone
Seeking frames for textures
Of withering sandstone
Seeking frames for textures
A few grains of sand
Knocked loose by the breeze
Skitter down a miniature ravine
Knocking loose a few more
Along the way
All coming to rest
With so many other grains
Collected in a miniature valley
Slowly filling up
With grains of sand
No mere recorder this
Light falls
On an electric canvas
Strokes from a brush
Made of glass
On an electric canvas
Strokes from a brush
Made of glass
Interpretations
Of a world made
From highlights
And shadows
Rendering texture
And line
I can see for miles
Sometimes
I can see for miles and miles
But still have no clue
Where the road will take me
I can see for miles and miles
But still have no clue
Where the road will take me
Pix to Words 