The door blew open,
And scattering some letters,
That lay on the mat.
Boots thick with wet mud,
Where has that come from? I ask.
I’m met with silence.
There was a pink moon,
And I photographed it too,
There behind a cloud.
As complex as simple is.
The door blew open,
And scattering some letters,
That lay on the mat.
Boots thick with wet mud,
Where has that come from? I ask.
I’m met with silence.
There was a pink moon,
And I photographed it too,
There behind a cloud.
In desperation,
I try and climb the sheer walls,
Slipping ever down.
The moon drifts around,
The evening, night and dawn sky,
Hiding behind clouds.
It’s such a fine day,
The sun warm and welcoming,
Shines a big hello!
I read the pages,
Recalling its storyline,
But how will it end?
It is the weekend,
The date numbers equal ten,
Maybe, twenty-eight.
Beyond the markers,
I queue and wait in a line,
Doing the shopping.
There’s air in head,
I feel like floating away,
The wind gathers me.
My eyes are so sore,
Just looking at this small screen,
On skype and on Teams.
The rain is falling,
Gentle, as if uncertain,
Should it really fall?
My office is dark,
And it is very small too,
A chair and a desk.
Pictures on the wall,
Keep a kind of balance here,
A new focal point.
I wrote, ‘It’s no joke!’
I meant I’m going somewhere,
But where I don’t know.
There’s holes in the road,
That have appeared overnight,
All in a neat line.
That is suggesting,
That something is wrong, a pipe,
Below is broken.
My birthday month gone,
And I’m a little older,
Older but wiser?
The grass is growing,
Its tall blade stretching upwards,
Waving at the sun.
Trees are in bud too,
Soon their light green leaves will show,
Spring will have arrived.
The buses pass by,
On the quiet road outside,
Makes it feel normal.
I am writing less,
The day job’s taking over,
And filling my day.
The sun hit the glass,
Reflecting its light about,
Creating rainbows.
The water is cool,
Refreshing and reviving,
Even the last drop.