#390
Vinyl, articles,
coffee table books
regarding old classic
Asian cartoons,
Japanese guitars,
from stunning views,
ten stories high,
to the east of the
city skyline, cutesie mugs,
eccentric spices, herbs,
a wok, homemade fusions,
a flat screen streaming
documentaries, a scale, a
kettle, posters of musicians
i love, photos of family, a
long cozy couch owned by
a friend i adore, who’s
helping show me, that i’m
ready to become a real person.
#391
Scooped up the
lost drifter
sitting quiet against
the museum bench,
watching the taxis,
the cyclists, the children
cross the avenue,
commute and flow,
green was his colour,
and shaded my monetary
gentle envy.
#392
i forgot my book
on a couch
in a locked house,
it’s a shame, i guess,
but it would be far greater
if i forgot to take the time
to simply gaze up,
from time to time.
#393
Trapped in a sweet state
bright eyes shining,
complaints whistling
through smiles as she
throws expensive snacks
to her happy squirrels.
It’s quiet today, much like
every other in the blooming
parkside, adjacent to her new home,
her voice forever shaped in tones
and notes from a different time,
one harder in many respects,
better in many more, some
mornings Velda is so far from here,
eyes glassed over, lost, far from home,
lately in recent mornings, blanketed in
the Spring’s Sunlight, she swears
she’s closer than she’s ever been.
#394
So profound
the power to create
with a mere magick pen,
a wand, a key, to
realms beyond, within,
and the plains between.
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