Creativity

A Writers Chair

Words hung in the airs senses.
Time travels through lives
Witnessed, real,  imagined,
Surreal, from the unreal and real.

Filling space with heart. Existing,
leaving to question its birth.

Story tellers souls are moments
of everywhere and everyone.
The worlds tale heard.

Just words, but we breathe them
with our souls wrapped inside
everything’s silent hope

The journey of hearts – ours
and yours.

The story of being human.

IW

 

wpid-wp-1440693982289.jpeg

Advertisements

Wet

The door swung, shutting the stifling air around the voices raised in the chaos that happens when water fills the sky. Affirmation of their worthiness sought in every gesture, ‘am I heard, seen, felt?’ I smile whimsically at the interactions, knowing the place in memory, of strutting peacocks and hens in their mating dance. All eyes are on the young man that had just entered as he shakes his head playfully to shrills of objection, and stands central like a stag on parade. Young woman ridicule, reprimand, and giggle at the event and he looks at me raising his brow. ‘See, I told you, you are just a pup,’ I think I thought, but say out loud ruffling the still surprisingly wet hair. The coolness between my fingers apparent in it’s contrast to how hot it has become and the dryness in my voice indication of how wet everything suddenly seems.    

IW

The Poem – Framing Words

IMG_20170522_164211_865

Moments
Pass in dusty ledges
Fingers trace mottled wood
And stop.

Breath a frame
By frame
Spoken forever
Fall into the shape
Traced, held in wood
In mottled fingers,
Side by side moving breath
To breathe, in
Breaths motion picture
Framing words.

~IW~