Skip to main content

There was even a tablecloth


The outside table is made out of an old pallet. It has a rustic charm, especially with a tablecloth. By night, candle lit, it is one of the most beautiful places on earth, as voted by me, Mr & Boy. We love the space we're in. 


331
This morning we are written
Cursively across the ground floor
Comments scroll the length of
Joined up lines of liking

332
Breakfast can squash us in at the tiny table
We are pleased to share cramped proximity
When it sprawls out, the fundamental cohesion
Persists, and elbows can relax

333
Convention is considered, on merit, sometimes
Respected, often, almost inattentively, pushed
Into something workable, and it works, like art
Because of the strength of the basic structure

334
Boy regards the sky, eyebrow raised
Rain is a possibility but he will be ok
To walk to school up the lane which
Becomes a small river when wet

335
Cheap shoes and adventure, I wish they
Were a more agreeable mix. As the limits of
Language are the restrictions of understanding
Adventure is curbed by the confines of kit

336
Good things to list about cheap shoes
A symbol of something to be improved
The need to carefully perceive where you step
Understanding the sublime liberation of painless feet

337
Three bowls, three spoons, two mugs, one glass
Dirtied, begins the sink-side clutter. On a bad day
Enough to quell the appetite to get it all done
On an average day, merely an acceptable occurrence

338
If a bowl held memories within itself, you
Could hold each of these and grasp a range
Of mealtime approaches. Impromptu outdoor
Breakfast would be my favourite

339
Mr woke up first on that convivial day, saw
The wide warm sky, took the fruit
From the cool fridge, diced it up and
Called us out, there was even a tablecloth

340
This year’s summer is all consumed
Warmth has lingered in the ground
For the effortless evocation of this
Early autumn sun ascending





Labels:

Comments

Anonymous said…
BOY!!!
21 December 2011 at 23:18
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Contact Pants Conundrum

There is weather today, I do note it: take a few moments to reckon the size of a cloud (big) and the frequency of rain (sporadic.) Centre of my interest though is a stack of magazines. Not the fashion kind. This is martial arts research. I'm not even sure what it is I'm looking for, but intuition calls loud. A range of old adverts skew some amusement. Contact pants, for example. Pants are not trousers where I come from. They are underwear. Professional contact pants: improved smirk value. But why would a person be likely to purchase a grappling hook and a lock pick set? For specialists and hobbyists only, the blurb assures. Guidance on the pheromone spray that attracts women against their better judgement? I doubt it works any more proficiently than the mysterious potion that defines your muscles while you sleep. But, then: I wonder is some sprayed on this paper? What was my intuition thinking, making this ghastly shout… Tea break time. There's a lot of words...
2 comments
Read more

Back From The Future Blog Party

Another joint blog adventure- if you want to see who else said what the list of participants is here . The premise is this: 'You're up before dawn on a Saturday when the doorbell rings. You haven't brewed your coffee so you wonder if you imagined the sound. Plonking the half-filled carafe in the sink, you go to the front door and cautiously swing it open. No one there. As you cast your eyes to the ground, you see a parcel addressed to you ... from you. You scoop it up and haul it inside, sensing something legitimate despite the extreme oddness of the situation. Carefully, you pry it open. Inside is a shoebox -- sent from ten years in the future -- and it's filled with items you have sent yourself. What's in it?' Here's how I imagined it: Before dawn? Shadows outside, first forming. Sleep has gone, I don't know where. Coffee I can find. All the way from Machu Pichu, this fair-traded pack. Scissors are in the drawer, which ...
26 comments
Read more

Hometime Foam Time

It was hot outside, cold indoors. When we were freed from the hall I opened my car thinking oven gloves might be required for driving. I was weary. I was lined up for a row of shifts- but the evenings are lighter now, and the beach was calling. I drove a wiggly route to Veryan (the road I chose was closed) and down to Carne Beach. Since I had checked the weather the wind had turned easterly, and the tide was in. There were waves smacking over a disappearing line of fine sand. Undeterred I wriggled my swimsuit on and went to play in the foam.  Neither air nor sea was particularly cold. Blue and cloud patterned sky, blue and turquoise patterned sea, flowers blooming and swooshed by the wind, and the warm brown crags of rock: to be here was to be directly connected to the source of all existence.  Home time was foam time, and vice versa. Afterwards I sat in my car, door open, eating a square of dark chocolate, watching the white flecks and trying to work out if the dark dot was a...
Post a Comment
Read more