Sprich Mit Mir

If you should stumble further than old photographs…

Eclectic Unconfined

If you knew how badly I want it to be you…
I see the flag and suddenly I’m having Vonnegut-esque conversations with myself
This flag, this timing, this wishful thinking
Is it you?
Do you care enough to come here?
Do you like what you see?
Do you remember me?
I don’t know. I don’t care
I care some. More than a little
And if you come what is it you want?
Anything at all or what you’d get from any someone
You can’t you know
Of course you know
Or you wouldn’t be here
Wondering if I write for you
And who and where and which one
All of them and none
If you knew how badly I want it to be you…

~ kei
4 February 2016

… this is way too ‘clean’ and oblique to be here but if it finds the eyes it’s meant for the…

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Aside ~ Fly Away

 

Ever want to wind up and pop that fluffy bird of hope that perches in your heart? Maybe tweak one of its tail feathers?

Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without words, and never stops at all. ~Emily Dickinson

Bird, Sttaaahhhhppp!!! Why does my heart leap to see his face in my newsfeed? Why did that last box I unpacked contain his letters from University and beyond? Why, when it has been made perfectly clear that he will not speak does that mutant little Ornithurae continue to make me think that he might?! He’s a a big butt head with a head like a butt and I don’t want him to speak but that traitorous turkey warbles away…

How ’bout you just bugger off with that infernal ‘bluebird of happiness’?

Maybe go poop on his head for me…

 

The Gardener ~ A Repost

She smiled and sang to him in a teasing lilt, “And if my lips were honeysuckle, would you be my honeybee?”

He was a thoughtful man, inclined to take his time
Studying carefully, planning meticulously
What seeds to sow, what would reward his care

He spent time working the soil, tending his plants
On hands and knees, letting his thoughts drift
Sometimes in the sunshine, sometimes in the rain

He surveyed his handiwork, admiring the colour
Rejoicing in his labours, tending to the weeds
Always he worked with love, always he was rewarded

He had a way with the thorny rose, and the exotic orchid
Blowsy peonies and showy lilies, all responded to his care
A perfect place to grow, a perfect place of repose

He hadn’t noticed the wild primrose, among the cultivated
A gentle presence, growing quietly in his leftover attention
Blooming only in the night, blooming with the hope he’d notice

He would sit in the evenings on his swing, thoughts adrift
Watching the dusk come down, dreaming of a hand in his
Catching a wisp of fragrance, catching a glimmer of her

He sometimes fell asleep there, laying his weary head down
Closer to wee primrose, nestled at the edge of his garden
Glowing in the night for him, glowing to tell him he was loved

~kei, 16 June 2012 ~ Original Post here

One must look in order to see ~ kei

One must look in order to see
~ kei

Without Rancor

I can always tell when you’re off on another trip
To places I only dream of with the woman you call wife

You disappear for a standard period of time a week sometimes more
Or visiting virtually from a locale whose beauty takes my breath away

There is no rancor and only a trace of bitterness, honestly
You regret your choice but only sometimes. I’ve heard it before

This is how you prove to me that you don’t love me
To forever exclude me from what truly matters in life

If you will not share the simplest of things with me
Dining in public, visiting your parents, children
You do not love me and words will not change that

Love isn’t simply a feeling
It’s everything that you do
If you will not share your life
She retains the best of you

~ kei
1 February 2016

~~~~~

Just some old thoughts rolling around, not the present. ~k