lunch on tuesday

the kitchen window conspires:
roses bloom and
monster lights
glow

iucundum!
difficilis facilis
silphium producing Cyrene
what colour is boxwood?
vestimenta hung on sacred walls,
the crowd of loyal dogs
drenched in wet perfume.
exam on Monday,
odi et
amo!

keep
on shining,
little brave lamp,
never mind the sun!

wake
me tomorrow
when the dreams
spill into
now

the words are, sunshine
on my shoulders
makes me
happy

writing
with you –
impossible to start
who will be reading?
just jotting down thoughts, first
organising early memories, growing-up, last Christmas…
sifting through stories, details
starting to glimpse possible
structure…. Now cutting,
Reducing into
stanzas….

And
We Launch!
Add powdered sugar!
Direct speech – “there’s dancing”!
The real-estate explanation is non-trivial….
Make room for the kourabiedes (kouraBIEdes!)…!
Does “velvet tops and Christmas
socks” imply no pants?
We are laughing;
Words are
Flowing

Once,
the thought
of ice sculptures
made me very sad –
I wanted to hold everything
in my hands to keep forever.

But melting, changing is beautiful too,
and if sculptures were never
made of ice, maybe
we’d forget to
enjoy the
seasons.

we
weigh our
memories and hope
that what comes out
is as beautiful as she.

insisting
on dreaming
like wandering children

Do
these great
watching devices giggle
to themselves when they
catch drivers singing out loud?
Are they chirpier on sunny days?
Do they dream of becoming movie makers?