#240
Being in the room
sitting under the paintings,
resting amongst the artists
feeling the home.
Ripples of synchronicity,
echoes of camaraderie,
gratitude, inspiration, cups
of tea and an old chipped teapot.
#241
Sitting on hot cement
beside the cockroaches,
watching the wind.
i peel boiled peanuts
and suck on the salt
as the riff raff roll in,
one by one, just
as i did,
blown by the warm summer
breeze sitting gentle on their backs.
#242
i’m no fool,
i’ve made these mistakes
many, many, many, times.
i’ve learned to learn.
i’ve learned it’s ok.
Push on. Persevere.
#243
if i could change my
handwriting, would i?
would it make me more distinguished?
shape me back to the romantic?
in some ways, yes, but i
suppose i’d rather the madness
and uncertainty of my
illegible scrawl then
change my ways for
the sake of beauty and ego.
#244
Head first into
the belly of the demon,
swimming in the furnace,
take big breaths
and run my hands over my
body to make certain i’m ok.
i’m exhilarated, and i ache.
Into the fire now,
out of the fold.
Thanks for joining! Find poems through out the week on my instagram @monsieurwrite
Don’t forget to check out the poems being recited on The Write Stuff podcast!
Take care, call your family, tell them you love them.
wazoo!
-Mr. Write