Poetry

Crooked House

It’s been an upside down,

twisting, curving, swirling, turning path

to this point.

Trails of thought, even serious

undoubtedly end in laughs

between us both.

We talk about everything and yet nothing,

say nothing and yet everything.

Our conversation can be in a look

or typed in a note,

and our peace

can be in a thousand words

one after the other.

 

Poetry

Just a snack

Today I saw a snail sneaking swiftly across the stones,

avoiding the fountain’s incessant drops,

its eye stalks locked-on to the shrooms.

It thought no-one was looking, but I saw it take a bite.

I think the shroom might have been magic,

because then the snail decided to climb up on a kite.

Poetry

Crusty rolls and glass soda bottles

Blue. In my mouth, on my tongue.

Ice, salt and small

creatures that wriggle together to form limbs.

An eye enlarged by remnants

of a green beer bottle,

no longer sharp. Its threat dead.

Laughter from the sand,

sandwiches full of it.

Water filtered through a straw hat

to make a mirror pool.

Ears full, yet deaf.