A Something Poem – Master of The Wait

Being ginger, I last longer, even longer than the old Duracell batteries, because the idea of me, is far, far older than the idea of the battery, and having been around for so long, I’ve had so much longer to learn, and to master, all that there can possibly be to master.  To master all…

Back and Out

  Boxed in. Your letters, your handiwork, your loving endearments, underlined with rage, with jealousy and possession. Sent to me, not to be uplifted, not to sit proud – up there on my shelf. Not that. Sent, instead, with intention; the intention to download, to crush, to weigh me down, to hold me in servitude…

Down The Lane

As luscious-lime hedgerows turn jaunty ginger and smooth-slick skin turns furrowed and fusty, you remain true. Still there. My trusty friend; the comforting memory of a waft-warm drink. Still there. Trusty. A trusty friend very thoughtfully placed. Knowing that that my friend knows me, I smirk; a joke shared. Throat parched, I wait for jaunty…