Just sitting and not thinking
In a moment I might have a thought If I sit long enough It might come to me How should I prepare for it? What if it is an image? Will it be pleasant? Or one of those that scares me What if it is self-doubt? Would I be able to cast it aside? Should I go in search of it? Dig and rummage around But what if I cannot find it Or that the ones that I find don’t fit so well Like a cupboard full of old shoes Worn out ones once favoured Now discarded but not thrown away because they meant something back then Those purchased on a whim but never really fitted so well And what of those that just fell out of fashion Could I put those thoughts in a bag and deposit them at the thought bank Recycled for the poor thinkers (or the little stinkers with their devilish thoughts) Or maybe for people like me without any thoughts Or people like me with too many thoughts Or you with your bad thoughts And you with your insincere thoughts We could then gather outside and pit are cunning and will against one another Grab the best thoughts from the shelves and run for the counter But beware of the ‘no refunds on sale items’ There could be nothing worse than to sit here with a thought that I had no practical use for Or worse still, a pinched and blistered brain as my thoughts
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He was a builder
He had a muscular figure from working hard Laying bricks by the dozen He moved his trowel speedily smoothing precise measures of cement perfectly In the summer his body bronzed and dripping sweat Gentle breezes coated his body with the dust of the dried earth and cement that layered the site Falling on his torso he become statute in appearance The sweat run over his skin and formed delicate marbled streams all over his part naked body Men together being manly He held his place And in the evening bar across the street he held his beer Never one to miss a day In the winter he would perish in the wet and snow Now it had all turned to dust His sweat and toil evaporating in the mid day suns So too his ambitions in the heat of a recession never seen coming No rainy day nest egg, that was never their way Now there is no site The machines and man idle It seemed simple Just bide your time Something would be around the corner But in the stark reality and glare of that recession You’re blinded by the brilliance of it all Try to see through it but you stumble Eventually falling back into soft cushions of well worn sofa peering endlessly at daytime and night time TV He moves his hand too speedily from one beer can to the next June 15th 2009 |
This BlogI come here not enough, the occasions of speaking up are infrequent. I should try harder to talk more. Maybe 2019 I will find a voice to tell..... Archives
January 2018
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