5 pm: the loch's waves are doing a steeplechase
and I'm outside the toilet staring at the door,
deciding if it's best left on the latch or open.
5.10: sunlight turns the grass to diamonds clasped
in silver - and I'm hovering over a notebook:
Should I write these thoughts down now, or later?
5.20: the black clouds gathering like angry vampires
over the mountains and the rain stabbing the windows
find me scratching the back of my head,
which itches, wondering what's for dinner.
Tags: Dharmavadana, fiddling, poetry
Share
You need to be a member of Dharma Arts Network to add comments!
Join this social network