Poles II

Green

The most difficult of colours... and people glimpsed, peripheral.

Snow trees

In the pink light
the small red sun goes rolling, rolling,
round and round and round at the same height
in perpetual sunset, comprehensive, consoling,

layered

See inside . . .

. . . bom bom

passing by . . .

inside outside inside outside

On the inside, looking outside, inside - how do I traverse the . . . space between. Without inhabiting the outside, always yearning to be contained.

Oh bollocks. Do give it a rest. . .

rainy daze . . .

leaving . . .

It's been a strange two or three days - with a flurry of communications from those absent, enquiring how I am, after silence for days and weeks. Some kind words, some concerns, and some evasions . . . some understanding, some misunderstanding, some not wanting to understand.

A friend commented that she's concentrating being in the "Here and Now" . . . I'm jealous of that - I feel I'm expanding outwards in time and space. Yet, I'd love to feel contained. I'm looking for an edge. Or maybe an anchor point. And, maybe there aren't any, and maybe I don't need any.

It's odd, this opening up to be a part of people's lives; it seems more often than not, it leaves me feeling lonely.

Secret lights

Morning light

From the 59 - Orange and Green

I'm not sure . . .

Red cliche

Each screaming
"Get up! Stop dreaming!"

Conversations

The tumult in the heart
keeps asking questions.
And then it stops and undertakes to answer
in the same tone of voice.
No one could tell the difference.

Uninnocent, these conversations start,
and then engage the senses,
only half-meaning to.
And then there is no choice,
and then there is no sense;

until a name
and all its connotation are the same.

Night station

Home . . .

Umbrella and hook

At night, on the roof,
blind drops crawl

Fall into red / fall out of red

Bus stop / red and yellow

59

Gold light and passerby