Poetry Friday 18

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So we've reached number eighteen. Will the ever end or will it roll on like the Trump for President bandwagon. It can only end in tears. 

The tramp at my window

Sometimes, when I can’t sleep at night.

I imagine the scene

from outside.

Twenty blacked out windows

and one bedside lamp burning

brightly, fuelled by insomnia.

But tonight, I’m not the only one

observing my window.

There’s a knock on glass.

I’m scared at first, then

intrigued, I pull back the blinds.

A homeless man smiles.

Can’t sleep? he mouths

I nod

Me too,

I open the window a crack.

What’s keeping you up? he asks.

I sigh.

I know the answer

but there are no words.

I understand he says

and I think he does.

I can’t sleep with the light on,

he points at the moon, 

nature’s bedside lamp.

In between kisses

A shared bag of chips and

a couple of silk cut.

Blowing smoke rings

in between kisses.

Smiles in our eyes,

and smiles in our bellies.

Then with salt on our fingers

I walk you home.

Laughter in the air,

whispers on the doorstep

in between kisses;

Trying not to wake

your mum and dad.

One long lingering kiss.

then the landing lights comes on.

You turn the key,

I skip home.

A Plethora of Platitudes

At the end of the day

it’s just a plethora of platitudes.

Empty words from empty brains.

So take each day as it comes

in this clichéd world.

Shallow thoughts from shallow minds.

Our destiny is in our own hands

but meaning is lost in spin.

Hollow ideas from hollow eyes.

Join me next week for Poetry Friday 19

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