The continuous dance..

Walking to work,
headphones on,
music fills my ears,
but a fluttering sound filters through.

I look around,
then up.
In the tree ahead; two pigeons
sharing the same branch.

Two pigeons side by side,
a small space between them.
One edges slowly towards the other,
taking small side-steps.

Each time he tries to move close,
he is met with her fluttering wings.
She, wanting her own space.
He side steps again,
She flaps her wings
warning him to keep his distance.

The dance continues...
small side steps,
flapping wings,
small jump back,
one beat of stillness,
and so it repeats...

The things the BBC are responsible for...

At the bus stop,
A very irate, old man opposite,
Sharing his opinion
While almost steaming with anger;
"How would you like it,
if I came into your living room and swore every night?!"
His much calmer friend;
"No, I wouldn't like it at all..."
The angry man now shaking his head vigorously;
"Well that is what the BBC do every night!
They don't have the right, the BBC!
I would cancel receiving the BBC if I could"

The old man continues along the same lines for a while.
In the gaps his friend mumbles sounds of agreement.
I drift off and stop listening.
Somewhere along the conversation creeps back into my consciousness.
The calm man seemingly moved onto a different topic;
"It's always busy"
Assuming he means the bus that has now arrived,
I look up to see it packed.
But the angry man declares,
"It's all the BBC's fault!"

Spirit of our time

I only post my own work on this blog.
Writings, photos, poems.
But today I want to link to a video, a track.
By Gravel and Partisan.
Sampling Leonard Cohan.
Words, Images, Music.
Strong, Hitting, Meaning,
and in someways breathtaking.

Experience for yourself:



Find out more at the Gravel Project: http://gavelproject.blogspot.com/2010/07/leonard-cohan-partisans-project.html

Getting used to changes

Too much white,
Clearer to read?
I hope,
but so much white space,
I want to fill it.

Have also added links to my Flickr and Twitter.

A Little Visitor

Dad calls,
I go to see him.
"Look, Look"
I look out of the window,
to the backgarden.
His fingers point to a little hedgehog.
I tiptoe out to see it,
It has seen me,
It stays very still behind a branch.
I leave it, and go back inside.

I tell my dad I have not seen a hedgehog in our garden since I was little,
When we used to leave out a dish of milk.
Dad tells me the hedgehog comes to visit every night.
He looks at his watch,
"He's a bit late tonight."

Mum's solution to the lack of daisies in our garden...

"we will fill our pockets full of daisies"


how i smiled :-)

Big Bets

The usual bus journey to work,
day of the Grand National.
A young, teenage lad,
gets out his phone to make a call.
His call is answered,
his voice loud and deep.
Shouting, "Hello, Hello?"
"Put us 50 on Snowy Morning..."
He repeats, still shouting,
"Put us 50 on Snowy Morning!"
Young lad, in his work uniform,
putting on the big bets.
The person on the other end asks a question,
this time he doesn't shout.
In a lowered voice he answers,
"Yeah, 50 pence".

A smile secretly creeps across my face.

Fragile Memories

So much has past
too many memories
scattered across the carpet of her mind

She has always been a hoarder
and now the memories she has collected
have become too much

She searches for her needles
carefully choosing a delicate pair...

...she now spends her days alone
knitting the fragile threads of her life away

Broken Pieces of Hope

Walking along the sand,
breathing in the fresh sea air.

A satisfying crunching sound
with each step I take.

I pause...
looking down at the shells under my feet.

Broken,
I have crushed hundreds of little pieces of hope and beauty...