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Static
Such a little word: Static. Carrying such a weight. Anchoring. Burying. Nailed. Sitting still but unbalanced. Doing nothing but offering up a shock if disturbed. Static. White noise obscuring the truth. A life without movement, experience, adventure That’s the real hair raiser.
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Drip
My glass is neither half empty or full It’s brimming and right at its limit My challenge each day Despite what you say Is to pack life and love in each minute. How can I rest When my boy’s made the best Lego building the worlds ever seen? When his brother has just jumped in…
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Forget me not
The trousers’ crease is sharp It won’t last I know But I watch him swing his new pants As I have to let him go Day one for Little One…
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Right now
Beans beans can form a part Of a childish rhyme Used all the time By my two boys But then they start To make that noise And my maternal heart Flips And my radar starts To spot those onlookers Allergic to farts.
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Boxed
A box can be a haven A shelter A home. But also it captures the spirit The wisps of self Collected in a pool. They should fly free, Be able to stand up for themselves. But sometimes they fall. Hard. Then the box welcomes. Then the box sighs. You could crawl inside and hide, Licking…
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