Poetry (words)

On the edge 

I’m often too caught up in the now to think about what lies ahead. I like that, I like putting stuff to bed before moving on. Clearing the path I guess. 

I want to write, that much has become clear. It’s definitely important to me. Be it poetry or just thoughts it’s one of my go to safe harbours. I say what I please here and although I know that people may never read it, I know that those who are important to me do. 

I’m lucky. Lucky that I’m able to express how I’m feeling. I’m lucky to have beauty in my life that inspires me. I don’t ever want to take that for granted or forget my flaws. 

Simplicity is such a beautiful thing, but the  world and its people are often so complicated. We’re completely aware of right and wrong, but we are led by our egos. We all have one…and its not always a bad thing. 

Little things like the text I just received. That someone told me I am in their thoughts. Simplicity of “the small things” become the things you crave. I crave. Yeah the big moments count but it’s the small things that shape your heart. 

I’ve completely lost the thread here. Why I started writing this…like those winding conversations I love so much. Where you start and finish isn’t important, the fact that you got as far as a conversation is amazing. 

Such long pauses…life in between. Technically it was a bath. Then dinner. 
Where was I? 

On the edge…I’m not actually on the edge of anything, it just feels that way. Change often feels like that. It’s not an abyss or in any way foreboding. It’s natural and welcomed.  
Paused ⏸

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Poetry (words)

The sky is falling…on Twitter at least.

The death of Jo Cox yesterday is extremely tragic. Her killers motive? I’m not sure. Nobody is sure….

…..nobody except the people of Twitter. Some will have you believe that it’s the fault of a poster, a cancer, an illness etc. Nobody really knows. Everyone is so desperate to be heard. For their opinion to be noted and re-tweeted. 

Farage’s poster is vile. It’s a lie. Is it a surprise? It’s not a surprise at all. UKIPs whole campaign is a racist barrage of venom. Yeah we can blame them for everything we despise, but they’d just be a scapegoat. 

Twitter is teeming  with inaccuracies. It’s a hive of propaganda and has been for years along with our news coverage and our journalism. What’s at the heart of all of these things? A government so corrupt they might as well be sponsored by Murdoch. 

Animals are animals and humans are humans. There is no cross breeding there. Animals do not kill because of creed or colour or sexual orientation. Calling a human an animal is often a damning  insult to the latter.

People retweet the gutter press (which covers such a variety of our so called journalists) so often. It’s one thing I dislike about Twitter the “when it suits me” mentality. Like those who despise Murdoch yet subscribe to Sky. Complain abou The BBC but tune in for more of the same. Signals so mixed it’s like semaphore for dummies. Personally I don’t care what The Sun or any “newspaper” says about anything, but it’s quite obvious that some people still believe what they read.  

To the free thinker this seems so unreal. That people still allow this venom to be drip fed into their lives. Like the off button doesn’t work and newspapers can’t be left on the shelf. Will this element of society always exist? Very probably. Can you change it? Might mean having to get off your arse and doing something!!! 
It’s not a question of “can you” more “can you be bothered” 
Don’t believe everything you’re  told. Don’t think that Twitter is the font of all knowledge or that opinions are facts. Headlines are just opinions. 

If you really want to change society then learn. Teach yourself. Investigate the “facts” be your own judge. Don’t be led or ruled by hear say. 

  

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Poetry (words)

Fingertips 

How much pleasure they own. When holding hands becomes so much more than holding. 

Each flesh covered vertebra brought to life with one flowing touch. Intricate nerves set on edge with anticipation. 

Slowly and beyond intense they outline they define. Seeing is believing, but feeling is intoxicating. 

Eyes close unwittingly, like you can’t bear the thought of waking up. Fingertips  undress, they explore. 

Tracing curves, tasting that palette after every touch. Time stands still, time is yours to hold. 

Mind fuels the senses and hunger drips from fingertips. Powerful strength held in such fragile vessels. 

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Poetry (words)

Thursday 

I woke with a head full of words. Cryptic like a screwed up letter rewritten and tossed aside. Am I supposed to make sense of it? I’d like to try.
I have lines written years ago. Just lines that will someday be something, something other than just lines.

Scraps of paper a reminder of inspirations lost in a thought. Fresh words with new meaning are now, my love. 

What I write falls with meaning, always loaded always with reason. I won’t  wade through metaphors when forthright has such beauty to explore. 

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Poetry (words)

Up ahead 

I like to watch the weather clear. Clouds dissipate like the trail of a firework caught in the breeze dragged away to who knows where.

Closed blooms drink in the sudden light. The rain laden grass begins to unfurl like aching fingers finding relief in stretching out. 

Water droplets hang in  slow suspension, waiting to flow, to fall. Mist clings to the valley with such ghostly charm.

Hills cloaked in cloud rise up, colossal clouds of green. Birdsong fills the air delicate and free. The tall grass clings to flesh momentarily. 

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Poetry (words)

My jeans

My jeans are too big, but I like the way they don’t fit. I’m constantly pulling them up. I could wear a belt, but I like how they fall. Never completely, how they cling to my hips like they know I will catch them. 

The bottoms have frayed because they drag on the ground. They get caught in my flip-flops. When I stand I always have on hand in my pocket, but only in these jeans. Half holding them up and half pulling them down. 

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Poetry (words)

Beautiful 

  

How the skin on your back feels on my skin. How one delicate touch can pull me in. How I melt at the sound of your breathing, how my eyes dilate when you gasp.  

How I hunger for nights alone with you. I become you, entwined with you. How you swim in the very depths of me. You touch the void, you own my oceans. 

How I’m on the edge with you and still wanting more. How I want you in the best way and in the worst too. You breathe life into me, but I am breathlessly yours. 

How this incessant desire takes all of my hours. How I lose myself in the intimacy we alone have found, how I discover you. Your curves, your flesh. 

You are beautiful to your core. 

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