Grey

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with peanut butter and rye toast

waking my tastebuds

with a stream of caffeine flowing down my throat

with Galloway’s flute filling my room with sweetness

I sit in my wicker chair

waiting, and watching the morning wake

 my sky with so many shades of grey

grey, a word worthy of a metal

it dances for many others

without taking the lead

at times it will soften the edge

or intensify the starkness

grey is so misunderstood

even speaking its name we tilt our voice downward

giving the impression of sadness

grey is not sad or empty 

it’s not the void of light

grey walks with everyone

it prepares you for the brilliants of a fuchsia morning sky

or sets you down gently in the evening light

grey is courageous and trustworthy

it will hold on to your tears

for it knows they are precious 

often returning them to you as a lullaby 

my grey sky is waking

it’s opening the door for the hues of gentle pink 

grey is calling me and it wants me to dance

for the morning sky is coming

the morning sky is coming

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Minute Moments

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Sometimes:
the sky is too big to see
Sometimes:
it plays tricks on us
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Sometimes:
we forget how small we really are
Sometimes:
the sky gets angry
Sometimes:
we need to cut it into small bits
so we may swallow it
without chocking
Sometimes:
we forget how lucky we are
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We should all take a moment each day

images © tamaya

Tornado

 

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what more does the planet have to do?
she has given us
food, water, beauty, friendship

we have taken and killed without remorse

we have created poison and mindlessly spread it

we have become jealous and territorial 

we take what does not belong and say it’s for the good of all

we have created a class based on the colour of our skin

we have given more importance to possessions then life

we are building walls to guard our insecurities 

we allow money to run our planet instead of our hearts

earth was not created by humans

she /he/it is more powerful then we can comprehend 

how much more will she take

before she rises her waters once more

before she holds the sky  in her fist once more

before she claps her hands and deafens us with her thunder once more

earth will survive without us

if and when we destroy everything she has given us

she will survive

her seeds will grow and break the asphalt

they will cover and heal the planet once more

the oceans will rest till the rains come

from the moisture of the forest and heal the coral reefs once more

humans are not needed for the planet to thrive

somewhere in the universe

there are answers

 

happy anniversary?

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there are mirrors everywhere

reflecting  images of you

lingering memories

time suspended above our heads

following us like a cloud or bubble

why do they linger

unfinished conversations

misunderstood moments

do they just linger

wanting,,, more of what was

time taken too quickly

I may have begun a transformation

my hands may have changed

nails, long and curved like a birds claws

the keen awareness of a crows eye

may now be my eyes

my hooked nose transformed into a beak 

flying in the night when the moon is bright 

looking for drifting moments of time

gathering our words that float loosely in the sky

many believe that cutting the wires that hold us

will relieve the tension and we will be freed 

freed to what conclusion I ask

free to look aimlessly into the sky

wondering what or why

we are told to love purely

we are told to honour our grief when the time comes

then we are told to leave it behind

to start a new

this might be the part

too difficult for me to do

my heart grows tired

covered with morning dew

let me sleep by the waves

so I may hear the music

of departed hearts 

bring me back to the waters 

so I may float in peace

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Time, Illusion or Reality​

Time Illustion or Reality 2018

looking into the mirror

seeing a reflection

glare of wonder

will the image change

if I lock on and freeze eye to eye

a slight burning of the lids distract

floaters passing by like fluffy clouds in an open sky

when they dissolve  and the mirror is again in focus

for a moment an image is captured

or a thought is born

no one really knows

I look again and 

past my reflection deep into a corner

I see life of a past time

like a movie reel ticking along

is our life present connected to our life past

do each play out in different zones

have I discovered the rabbit hole to my own existence

how often does our life play out

does my mirror reflect inside

reflect inside, reflect inside, inside, inside

past becoming present

present becoming future

is my life a kaleidoscope of time

do I even exist or 

am I just a flash of  light in the mirror 

are these my thoughts

my handwritten words

am I a form of electromagnet energy bits

collecting and passing time

is that me I see in the mirror

or is it something else

something I don’t yet understand

1500 Words Of Hope

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I ache for the solitude of my mind 

memories are a river

flowing over a bed of stones 

swimming against the current 

tires me, weakens my will

my hands raw from grabbing branches passing

toes scratched and bleeding

hitting debris of partially covered metal

garbage thrown mindlessly

We do not deserve this planet

for we do not know of sharing

the constant spitting of foul words

over land that cannot be owned by any humans

every child born is a breath of hope

for they do not enter with  hate and prejudice

formed in their minds

Are my memories selected from the riverbed

do I only walk on the rocks I prefer

choosing my memories carefully

leaving buried in the sand

moments to difficult carry

is this justice or survival

this question surfaces often

do we recreate the past

making it palatable so we can move on

or is this just living a lie

do we all live these lies

there is no comfort in great numbers 

A stream is created from the abundance of rocks left on the riverbed

it rises and depletes with the flow

soon there will be no rivers flowing to the ocean

only dry riverbeds

full of our leftover unpleasant memories

thrown into the waters like scrap metal

left till someone swims by and cuts flesh

blood flows in the stream

absorbed by the wet earth

the seeds and life has to grow

do we really want them to start with our mistakes

our hatred, our jealousy 

I have no answers

no solutions

I can only try and carry my own rocks

to the river’s edge

so it may support the earth from falling in

if a stream is hope
then the river is ambition
the ocean is acceptance
the rain is sharing

no human or country can ever own the clouds and rain

is that why my eyes always look to the skies

looking for those beautiful clouds that dance and bring hope

one thousand

five hundred

words of hope

LUV

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Pull Down The Blinds

Photo on 2018-08-27 at 11.24 AM

 

what is in this cornfield, that pulls me in

deep green with dusting of gold on each leaf

tops adorned with essence of rose and amber

distant views fill with light green rows 

bobbing on the earth like waves in the ocean

when a breath is caught

it’s past from leaf to leaf 

zigzagging the open field

this cornfield that pulls me

the sky is bright

I stay indoors, hiding from the sun

I raise my shoulder and shy away
feels like kryptonite

the sun does not energize me

it does not fill my heart with joy

instead, it steals from me

or so I imagine

If I could pull the blind

invite the calmness of the grey sky

feel the turbulent clouds rushing by

the echo of thunder feels like music

if I could do this

would it soothe, would it calm, would it ease
the electricity that runs through me

 

august 27 2018