The Last Mile
Filed under Poetry, Senryu | Comments (2)wise feet know their path
through threadbare carpets –
last sip of hot tea
Holding Back
I do not dream of working naked,
of sporting prowess or having super powers.
Nor do I wake from falling downwards,
from ghoulish monsters or daemonic hatred.
I wish for but one most simple pleasure;
that I might take a walk upon the sands,
bolstered by the cooling onshore breeze,
my dogs running circles against the sea.
My want is but to be as free as them,
to cross my path and speed right on,
instead of tripping in its rutted depth,
cut by dampened chain and morbid anchor.
Complex Apartments
carpet under my feet
dulls the slap of a hard world –
caveman cries below
Filed under Poetry, Senryu | Comments (4)
Real Life
Off-line is so empty.
The sound of bills
slapping on broken tile
echo emptiness over
the perpetual motion of
a single low decibel fan.
As if worried into movement
the fridge clicks,
shuddering with the.
unaccustomed effort
of cooling a slice of
yesterdays pizza.
Its unhappy motor
ejects a din that
smoothers all but
the most insane thoughts.
Outside a gunshot rings out,
its sound-wave cracks,
forcing a moment of
un-requested reality
into the room.
Unrestrained it also
wakes a tiresome dog
that exists only
physically chained
down in the street.