Ode

You are the quiet ponder behind a secret smile. You are the couple walking hand in hand, the girl giggling on the phone, the outfits in shop windows. In the coffee shop you are in the corner, legs tucked up beneath you, reading a book. In the newsagent you are the woman behind the counter with her hair pulled back. You are cakes on display, the puddles stepped round, the gentle rain caressing my skin. You are the slick, swirling colour of a passing umbrella, the click of heels on concrete, the curve of the banister, the smiles and laughter of a small child, the deep red of your lipstick echoed in the passing cars. Below the fading blue I …

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Mindful

He is the child that can’t wait. Pensive, tense, excited, irritable, his mood swings back and forth from feigned nonchalance to fervent fretting. One moment he is oozing laissez faire, content to let life swing onwards, safe in the knowledge he will pick things up when he must. The next he is arrogantly unforgiving of anything that doesn’t suit him. He will pander to no-one, then placate them on the upswing. Turning to the usual outlet, the words spin from my head, delicate threads draped on a well worn carpet.

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There was a tree

It was a large tree, all leafy and green as a tree should be, standing tall and proud at the top of a small hill. On the ground beneath it spring flowers were bursting into life their vibrant colours proclaiming new beginnings, fresh growth,  a new season full of heady fragrances. The tree was old and wise, with countless rings and scars testament to the experience it had gained, the life it had lived. Every now and then the tree would think back, reliving each moment when it had grown a little more. It knew it was governed by nature, that it wasn’t in control, and was more than content and willing to submit to the whims of the breeze. …

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Lost Key

It is a ramshackle place, half-closed blinds filter streams of dusty sunlight across the threadbare carpets. Somewhere a breeze creeps through a gap and dances through the hall, ruffling the thin trail of smoke as the joss stick quietly smoulders. The furniture is old, loved and carefree, a random matching of patterns and leather. Echoes of parties and laughter remain but are quickly fading. The painting over the fireplace is offset by the tiniest fraction, remains of the last fire lie in the grating. It is time to move on. From upstairs the sound of drawers sliding open, doors banging shut as the occupants hunt for the key. As soon as they have it, they will pack up and go …

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Stuck in draft

Patiently they sit, biding their time. Eager for limelight and growing nervous. What if they pass unnoticed? As the slow trickle of sand reaches an end some of them wonder if they have already missed their opportunity and, if so, what then? In past times they were given a new life under a different guise, a subtle shift of opinion or view rendering their colours vivid, but now their fate is less certain. They have watched, with transfixed gaze, as others have been removed and deleted and, whilst this knowledge offers little hope, some succumb quietly knowing full well that this is always how it was going to be. Fate is a fickle mystery and holds no comfort. And still, …

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