The Weather Draws on Me

Rain, you fall on my noggin and sweeten my strands with your drops of affection.
Your tireless effort dawns all setting suns to mild perfection.

I am your cup of tea while you are my sweet spice of desire.
You are my mid day chill and I am your weathered flame of  fire.

I am your canvas for snow,sleet and rain,
as I stand out under you, in howls of laughter,in giggles of pain.

I let you draw on me, your drops tracking down my skin,
your elegance, your slight of hand, your magic touch within.

Call on me under any skies my clouds of wonder,
I will be out there in hail, lightening or rapid bolts of thunder.

Draw on me, I’ll stand, lay or sit
whether or not the weather is fantastic, super, beautiful or shit.

 

For you are the artist,
and I trust in you.

 

Bringing Colour and Milk

After being on the Ipad or my computer for awhile life feels vivid when it is the iPhone I use instead.
It feels like the world is smaller this way. That everything is more tangible.

It’s the end of the week.

Start of the week.

They do keep going dont they.
Sometimes, not often, I do feel that I’m in a barrel and I’m rolling and rolling and seeing the same blade of grass or the same beetle with grit between its teeth and that the clouds are just the same.

I love clouds. I want to be a carebear just to sit in them.

Mise well paint rainbows too.
Chalk on sidewalks. I like that.
I sometimes, not often, imagine the chalk dust to be that of the fairy world. And if sprinkled just so, will bring weeds their coloured strength and myself some chocolate milk.

Stand in by Standing By

Bend me a cloud like they do the balloons on fairgrounds.
Bend it into a soundbox with sound.. And I’ll spray paint it.
Build me a cloud with another cloud inside of it.
We can paint that to.
Spray.

Wild horses. One day  I’d like to ride one- bare backed.. on land
that sews itself to the sky.Where the thread of lazed un-labour weaves
itself through the clouds and the setting sun; a blanket untouchable.
Soul untouchable.

Soft creases under her eyes and dirty lips sealed with defiance.
Cheekbones like foxhounds, deep red and sly…with eyelashes dark and heavy,
bottom ones lined out in easy fashion.

Days keep knocking each other up, making birthdays for all the months out there. And they do it quickly without much hesitation. Makes me think there’s a Base somewhere, holding a fleet of trained months,
on stand by.