Month: October 2011

Cold Floors & Warm Hands

Cold Floors & Warm Hands

Cold Floors & Warm Hands

Tea starts it all,
the early morning yawn
the hunger
subdued until, awash,
the warmth begins.
A pause on the treadmill,
these enlisted infusions,
the first of the day,
shared,
with friends,
pets, memories,
or just with silence,
it is all still to be done,
the living,
but only after
this moment’s quiet,
this friendly tea.

Posted by jason in Poetry
This Transient Confetti

This Transient Confetti

This Transient Confetti

The working week
working its way home,
as I slip through
in celebration,
my hands
absently pull and shred,
the last throes of stress.

And when it’s done,
I scatter them
for the waning sun,
my summer friend,
to catch and
turn in fading light,
then let them fall –

I feel no guilt
for this transient confetti,
left for no one
but the weekend drunks
and scrums.

Posted by jason in Poetry
Love Coat

Love Coat

Love Coat

That coat
meant for one
it’s arms always open,
encouraging, warming,
the pockets holding
scraps of tickets to work
or wrappers from comfort food.

This coat,
meant for one,
you wear to the car
three sizes too big,
to drive me to the station
and as the train pulls away
I note that, as with everything,
it looks so much better on you.

And that makes me smile.

Posted by jason in Poetry
Stamping on Leaves

Stamping on Leaves

Stamping on Leaves

Hop, skip,
looking down as
she moves,
one stomp at a time,
here is Godzilla
just back from school
there weren’t enough victims
in project time.

Foolish attempts at
arresting nature
her scowl admits her failings,
the leaves skip as she hops
hop as she stamps,
her parents
oblivious
a few steps in front.

Autumn brings its own trials.

she captures one,
picks it up
turns it over and smiles
just fleetingly,
before letting it fall,
watching it go,
and stomping,
stamping some more.

Posted by jason in Poetry
Low Smoking Cow

Low Smoking Cow

Low Smoking Cow

The low smoking cow,
down on it’s knees
laid down in a field,
looking so calm.

After a run
along concrete walkways
it’s a smile on my face,
ink for my pen.

This morning’s turned cold,
the years slowly ending,
it’s all just as obvious,
as the low, smoking, cow.

Posted by jason in Poetry