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| | From:  crispleaves (Original Message) | Sent: 10/21/2007 1:08 PM |
The stepping stones,
oval in shape, as black as slate,
meandering a path beyond
the copper beech where lovers wake.
The trail ascends the cwm,
climbs high above the ribbon lake,
they skip along the stepping stones,
dancing towards their fate. |
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Presence
---------------
The room was not quite complete.
..............................................It was felt
very unlikely it would ever be
complete.
..............In fact it was known that it would
always be so. There would always be some
-thing missing.
...................Of course, it was not known what
this something was. It was not known what this
something looked like. It was not known whether
one could touch it, ot taste it, or hear it.
And surely
................if we are to discover
this something then there must be some hint
of presence?
................However, somehow it was felt
and in consequence resentment seeped
to a degree that
.....................something
.................................was expected
to happen.... |
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Time
The two begin their day,
Tumbling from warm blankets,
Trembling in frosty light;
Trousers and tie for him,
T-shirt and jeans for her;
There is no tea or toast,
There are no tender words. |
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Late
Beneath a peeling white ceiling
dusty floorboards creak and echo,
rehearse imperfect to perfect,
until a nurse giggles close-by.
A proper gentleman, he turns
away, uncorks a glass of red
to slake his thirst, and stays awake
to paper walls with scented charms. |
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