Friday, 4 November 2016

Poetry Friday 18

For audio click here 

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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