Perhaps I Am A Flask Of Flesh
Waiting for the perfect coffee beans
to match my inner water.
Learning to breathe and
slow brew life into art and vice versa.
Words, sounds, rhythms, shapes, smells
and so on.
Missing nothing and processing what I want to
in good time.
Perpetually providing dew drop sized
drops of pure delight and
flushing out the useless.
Yes, that is how I will roll.
Standing back as often as possible.
Breathing, and ACTION …
PERHAPS I AM BLUE SKY
red earth, never-dark night, smog-filled day.
Green forests. Deep blue waters. Deserts.
Swirling winds and, of course, .a clown without a circus
with golden goggles and muddy feet.
I WANT TO BE
the Karoo thrush
diving through suburban undergrowth
as Bloemfontein fills with white butterflies
for a day.
Topic(s) of this poem: butterflies,creativity,existence