Winter Morning Walk (off piste as usual)
These are the rosy cheek days,cold, there is a nip, I wish to tuck in the air;
I could be static but my hair has electric dreams
and I can't train it to behave, I so dread rain,
it pours sops on my dreams
and I do dream you know.
I am captured by a pole dancing ex policeman
and realise goals are not always insurmountable,
I have mountains to scale and a few high hills
that I can fall and tumble, smelling sweet grass
and missing the untrained eye obstacle.
These are my mascara running days,
as I speed walk through a park,
I see crocus and primrose sniffing the air
and a ridiculous dog, dressed in a coat
with a fake jewelled harness, while a poodle
loose, runs free, she curls her nose,
he knows he is lost before he begins.
The air smells of ice and baguettes baking,
I resist coffee and curls of chocolate.
I choose, frosty vapour breath,
as two lovers meet and he kisses her nose
as she tucks her hands beneath his collar.
It is a moment stuck in time;
I shoulder my let's not grow up bag,
pass the statue and the stone,
read the commemorative slabs,
it is a life, even the lives long lost
I salute them as I pass.
Poetry by Elle
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Written on 2014-11-17 at 20:41
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Lawrence Beck |
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shells |
ken d williams |
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by Elle Latest textsTwo Little CatsHills Not the End Cinders Oh perfect Day |
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