Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Sand timer

The pale green silent room lies dead,
The mould seems to grow from his leg .
The muffled snoring and things in jars lay bathed in a slow golden haze,
Time here seems to pause, stories to be told and unfold but there is no one to tell.
So they gather moss in the recesses of my mind, or hers, or his or maybe another kind.
When the steady beating of the rain kept us spell bound,
We lay up here and forgot the songs of the birds and kiss of the earth.
Our memories never served us well, them our masters, we their slaves, disappeared.
Now no one can tell the tale.

Monday, August 2, 2010

Coffee spelt

Stories that lived within the walls
Spilt forth like spells that wrapped you in
the corner of warmth that chose you well .
You rode high on the swirls rising from the dark puddle in your mug and..
You spilt forth like a spell unleashed upon the world.
Fly high and let the you that is , be.