small stones - my small stone

pressure on the palm of my hand
to remind me that i sit
on the precipice of pain
on the precipice of patience
and most importantly
the precipice of a place where these things
don't matter.

small stones - grey eyes (take a guess)

Can i pretend?
just for a minute
or two.

Would you like to join me?
guess at the things my mind has been
thinking
peek into the world that i am building
its you and i
and gardens of
lush, lavish leaves of
emerald and ivy
spotted pillows of pink
blossoms

you are sprinkling them along the paths that we follow to our
collective tomorrow
the sun partitions
reality and circumstance
and you take may hand as if
nothing else matters.

i don't think that with a million years
you'd have ever guessed, that all of that
was hidden in a stranger's smile.

small stone - giggles

It's nearly a cackle.
Low and deep, yet light and airy
weighed down with
the reality of life's unwanted gifts.
Aged, and exhausted
sounds bubble up and spill over
somehow lined with a glimmer
of hope in tomorrows that
are lined with joy
and flowing with promise.
I don't know how they do it - i'd love them to teach me.

a small stone - seven sisters

a woman with red hair tosses equally red water from a crimson bowl into the road
it slightly splashes my embarrassingly dirty shoes
with a red froth that does little damage,
at least the suds make the shoes smell clean

the screens scream at me - crashing upwards towards their cage
a man rushes out, begins the work of unloading cartons from a van
another builds towers
of bananas
onions
piles of green leaves I cannot name

dead cold eyes of salmon,tuna and snapper
smile and waft the scent of death and childhood memories of oceans
up my unwilling nostrils.

one by one they come to life
open doors on a bustling high street
that feed on days like today
when the sun bids us outdoors.
i came too early to fill my basket
but had the pleasure of watching
seven sisters wake up on a Thursday morning

a small stone - my local

it is impossible to have a bad day
when each morning starts
with the warm invitation of
fresh croissants - all butter and joy
the smell takes my hand
guides me an open door through shops, and time
the softness on my tongue,
filling my mouth with pastry and my heart with childhood memories
as i take the time,
to enjoy one of the great benefits
of living next to a local with it's own bakery...

A small stone - hello moon !

the moon, is smiling at me. pouring genius from its heart, into the cells that bid my fingers to sing - be it from the scratching on a page, or the clicking of keys. I am smiling back.