Fruitful or less service to universe, race, self?
Resources used wisely or squandered?
Desultory paths wandered with intent or not?
Sands silently stop
Waiting for the all encompassing corruption, subsumption
Contributions ultimately forgotten or turn to dust
Future kind dig, discover, analyse remains
Content of past lives being hypothesised
Perché, pam, why?
I’m pleased with the second attempt, more ghoul, less demon.
Finding inspiration in the unusual, I could not resist this image cast on the floor, through last night’s wine decanter.
The first attempt was more imagined, something was eager to be released.
In this time of limited travel, physical distancing and quarantine, I wonder if picking, buying and giving flowers are allowed.
Instead, I sketched some for you. I hope you enjoy them as much I enjoyed creating them.
Wishing you, warmth, healing energy, and golden light.
Deep blue sky unmarked by cloud or objects high
Longest shadows cast low upon journey’s path
Soul chilling clamminess battles warming morning
Lively zombies walking jogging ambling waving
Covid-19 avoidance strategies employed
Brazen blooms bounce in the gentle breeze
Poincianas advance into skeletal slumber
Dew laden blades tightly packed unmoving
Noisy silence interspersed with staccato birdsong trilling
Strangeness of feeling being part of the ab-usual un-normal
As an introvert, I internalise thoughts, plans, and visual goals. This melding of components, under extreme pressure, occurs unseen. Beads of perspiration may appear, due mainly to the subtropical climate.
The intuitive part of my personality loves to explore, discover, and try new things. In moments of pure idealism, perfection is obtainable. The reality, dear reader, frequently disappoints.
Being a perceptive, details sometimes elude me. If I read ‘fork’ in relation to finishing a pasty recipe, connections happen in my mind. Fork translates into crimping the pasty, rather than using it to create holes to vent the steam.
The love and emotion that is conjured to aid the creative process is boundless. The onion, carrot, and sweet potato are diced to regulatory perfection. Around a quarter the size of a sweet corn kernel. While the pastry is smooth, short, and even. Is it surprising, when pointed out after exiting the oven, the pastry is strange, the crimping Devonian rather than Cornish and the carrots and sweet potatoes undistinguishable from each other, feelings may explode?
The adult sized ‘Quornish’ pasties were an experiment. Accompanied with vegetarian gravy, deliciously satisfying.
Maybe aliens visit our minds.
Could they constitute some unseen mass of writhing brain probing tentacles? Reading, testing, measuring, analysing the subjects in a great experiment of human life, on a single planet in the cosmos.
Antimatter, inadvertently, stimulating synapses; producing ideas, inspiration, revelations, and answers to oft perplexing questions. I wonder if one’s muse is alien intervention.
Do they occasionally, take control, resulting in actions out of character? Are they represented in prodigy, prophecy and genius? Those who appear non conforming of societal norms. Are they more or less in tune with the puppetry of the Universe?
The movie Being John Malkovich lurks, malevolently, in my consciousness.
Having more than the average, five;
Projects ones thoughts into longer term.
Drawing out syllables, rhyming parts:
‘Temp – Schemmp’, ‘por – more’, and ‘rary – praery’.
Magically feeding self-denial.
A state of mind, as well known as the,
Skittish nature of often absent,
Fleeting muse. One certainty, in time,
All things good, bad, indifferent shall pass.