Of which my special place exists
In a universe of quanta
Where once filed I must persist
A clump of data information
Impacting where I once
Occupied a short reality
In the tiniest of chunks
On the cusp, I must perpetually
Hold a signal back in time
Only speaking if when spoken to
On a shelf-stack hard to climb
What will I do forever there
Amid the crowds of many courses
To one day find myself again
Among the universal sources
Saving for a rainy day
Saving for a drought
Saving for abundance
Saving hard for nought
Saving for the sake of it
Saving for the thrill
Saving for that special thing
Saving for goodwill
Saving for the emptiness
Saving for what counts
Saving for the desolation
Saving small amounts
Time to pack away my things
Letting go of here and now
A journey taken quietly
0ne final field to plough
The iridescent evening lights
Colour shadows in my dreams
No tears to shed on fond farewells
Just idle by on quiet streams
Regrets and burdens now released
I travel easy in the night
In deep passages, I return again
Embracing calm winds out of sight
Photo by Hobi industri on Unsplash
Stuff is happening all the time
Living in this world that spins
Before you know it, all will change
Overall not worth two pins
Moving to new pastures
Straight roads becoming snakes
Rocking socks and snapping locks
Such is life and “them’s the breaks”
In dark corners where suggestions
Harbour stealthy indications
In a pot of planned malevolence
Based on mindless implications
They brewed a mix of venom sluice
In a vat of bitter paste
And so, reduced the Emperor
With enjoyment interlaced
Many rumours on the grapevine
Foretold a vintage tale
Proclaiming how the end was nigh
By vitiation of grand ale
Photo by Mark de Jong on Unsplash
The angry poet disappointed
With the seat on which he sat
Finding glare brought on despair
He hid his eyes beneath a hat
He read the news and got the blues
Then tuned a radio station in
In the hope that busy airways
Might aid his quest within
With nothing found to write about
From conversations with his head
Too many words like flocks of birds
Seemed aimless flights instead
Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash
Sitting by an hourglass
Watching grains of time
Jostling for moments
Dancing gravity in rhyme
Silent driving tumbling rhythm
Changing places each and all
Where high and low are meaningless
All must take their turn to fall
Like a pulse of racing tempo
Each grain will have good measure
In reverse, they settle once again
Waiting passively at leisure
