08:10

 

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Red ties, brown socks

Little books, Google docs

Lanky frames, big aims

Chins up for the game

Blue pants, white shirts

Wide eyes for what it’s worth

Morning rush, silent murmur

Evening bustle, footsteps firmer

How do you look at it?

Image courtesy of Pixabay

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Celluloid

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“Women doing anything apart from falling in love remains under-represented across the board.”

Greta Gerwig, during an NYFF press conference

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Photo by Kristina Paukshtite, courtesy of Magdeleine

Up before nine

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all of my plans, piling on

all of my friends, moving on

all of my dreams, getting buried

this failure of a life

it’s not what I’d foreseen

but today,

I’m up before nine

smoke in my hair

dust on my skin

and sun in my eyes

young and careless no more

sans escapes, sans lies

 

Photo by Annie Spratt courtesy of magdeleine.com

A bad morning

auto-3079295_1280Have nowhere to be
Been struggling for three
Been milking my stay
My dad told me yesterday
Circling in a passive state
Maybe a decade too late
Dropped my daughter to work today
Said I don’t get how they play
This game of masters and money
I’ve been home for three
With nowhere else to be
No outlet for the tales inside me…

 

photo courtesy of pixabay.com

 

 

 

WIP

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when I’m working,
I don’t doze off to escape.

when I’m working,
I forget that I’ve gained weight.

when I’m working,
I don’t touch the scars on my face.

when I’m working,
I don’t think about the closed gates.

when I’m working,
I don’t worry about my thinning hairline.

when I’m working,
I don’t feel the heaviness on my eyes.

when I’m working,
I find no  joy  in whining.

when I’m working,
I don’t have to find a silver lining …

 

 

photo by Anubhav Saxena, courtesy of Unsplash

Roots

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Try to wash the dirt off my leaves,
The sun would make the drops fly,
Brown would coagulate,
And then you’d sigh.
Green would sprout
With an outward brightness,
An inward progress, shining loud,
Only if you water my roots
That burrow far from the hyped cloud…

 

Cover-ups

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Cover it up with ice-cream,

Cover it up with smiles,

Go out for shopping,

You’ll start feeling fine.

Cover up the gloom,

And look for answers out,

All they’d ever ask you

Is what you’re up to now.

Cover up the dreams and

Hustle all day long,

But when you are lonely,

The spider would start to crawl.

He’ll pull up the veil and

Bring back your frown,

So know that quick fixes

Are not wise or sound.

All they’d ever tell you

Is what the world’s about,

But who you are matters

When all comes crashing down.

 

Photo courtesy of unsplash.com

The Street

The Street

The dawn rose and my eyes adjusted to the view, from bokeh to bright, as the sun sprinkled a golden filter across the street. Who were these people, so immersed in their preoccupations, chasing life, their hopes and anxieties all closed to me?
Do they have a special pocket in their briefcases, one in which they ensconce their dreams? Do they ever think about home, or are they happy to get by just like me, meeting new people, gleaning stories?
Who live in the thatched cottages on the mountaintop? Do they savour the sunrise and sunset as much as the tourists? Do they ever look out their windows and watch me on this bench where I sleep?
Who is the owner of the antique trinket shop? Does he know who carved the wooden camel so painstakingly?
What is the tale of this bustling anecdotal street?

I started from home with little more than an intrepid spirit and a guitar. Today, I have a bag full of memories; they can’t be distilled into a single photograph or diary entry. 

photo by Josh Wilburne, courtesy of unsplash.com