The first decision that you make each morn
Is which colour LeCreusset you should use,
When both of you with coffee are reborn
And you stand at the cupboard and you chose.
From black or darkest purple to bright green
There are so many colours in the range,
With every shade of blue slipped in between
Maybe, today, you'll use red for a change?
You feel that the decision that you make
Will influence the way you pass the day,
Although you know that superstition's fake
You still stare at the colours in dismay.
Imagine that you chose the wrong one now
And everything goes foul and bad somehow.
The first decision that you make each morn
If they can hear the bell then it's too late
He's pounced and their lives are as good as done,
And they are helpless, he controls their fate
And plays with them and uses them for fun.
I heard a squealing from the kitchen floor
And went to have a look what it could be,
And there was Kinton Yakis stood before
A jumping, screaming mouse trying to flee.
The mouse is quick and putting up a fight
He runs away and hides behind a chair,
But our black cat is far too fast and light
And captures it again without a care.
But I feel sorry for the little mouse,
And catch it quick and send it from the house.
If I'm really bad and just deluded.
Many will see the first two lines they saw
Reading there the answer self included.
And so it is, and so I face my fate
A hobbiest for life and nothing more,
Forgetting days and writing way to late
Another pile of words we can ignore.
But really, really, really isn't fame
A joke that our existence has made up?
When Sonder comes, alone we take the blame,
And lonely we drink from our broken cup.
So, all in all, it must be done for me,
And whether it's irrelevant, we'll see.
His claws are long, his eyes a vicious green.
He's been there for a thousand years or more
His jaws are strong, his hungry eyes are mean.
I hear his scratching late at night until
I fall asleep; and then throughout the night;
And when I wake up in the morning still
I hear him outside howling at the light.
So hungry is the heart he longs to eat
So old and frail the bones he longs to chew,
That I know I will never once defeat
This creature of the night except through you.
For you have told me love will save the day,
And this I keep believing, come what may.
But, then again, perhaps, maybe I do,
I like to lay my thoughts out in a row
And play some little rhyming games with you.
It's lovely at the ending of the day
To have a chance to think of all I've done
To do this thing that never fades away
A little puzzle I can do for fun.
It's nice to put the brakes on for a bit
The days run by so fast that I get lost,
I aim my gun all day but never hit
The mark. And at what self inflicted cost?
It's nice to write a poem now and then
And let my thoughts bleed out inside a pen.
Unravel the knots that ravelled my kite
And tail. I spread them out, just like a fan
And slowly with my fingers, smooth and light,
I start to start undoing, soothing each
Thread. Until I soon can see the tail grow,
Out beyond the kite and far out of reach.
My fingers trace each twist and turn so slow
And thread the tail through tiny little holds
And thread the plastic string's wheel through as well
And watch the way the tangle soon unfolds
Until there are no twistings anymore,
And we can fly the kite just like before.
Welcome to a world where warriors win,
Be tough, be strong, yet also mild and meek
It's hard sometimes, but smile and don't give in.
The world can be a really lovely place
But it can be quite cruel and hard as well,
Attempt to ride the ups and downs with grace
And don't ever let anybody tell
You what to do, or how things should be done.
You know the same as anyone what's best.
Do things you find worthwhile and have some fun
Remember you're a soul on earth and blessed.
If you find love then keep it near and know
You're very lucky and don't let it go.
Fifty-three and all my edges are gone,
A pebble on the beach that's all ground down
A shadow where my sunny youth once shone.
I've tried to hold the waters back but no
The tide will never turn for me alone
I'm buffeted and dragged both to and fro
And worn away like any other stone.
I'm sad, and yet I simply must accept
That this is what all life is like on earth
And I must try and wake where once I slept
And try to do the things that give life worth.
So, day to day I try to be on guard
For these depressing thoughts that make life hard.
And I am not four childrened off my feet,
It's like a gifted day where thoughts take flight
And my life once again can feel complete.
What is it that creation seems to stir?
Why are these writing moments so sublime?
How does this Wonderful ever occur?
Why does it feel like I am stopping time?
Maybe it's true, the Now I stretch with words
Stops time. It seems so, and it also seems
As though my thoughts are like magical birds
That, as they land upon this page of dreams,
Connect me to the past that once was me
And everything that I will ever be.
For you. I think it's very valuable.
Although, perhaps, maybe, except for love,
Pricing it will be an uncomfortable
Task. What if it cannot even be done?
What if there is no price that can be paid?
The rich say, "All things have a price, it's fun."
I'm not so sure though, diamonds never fade
Away. They're not pain or pretty flowers.
I've been looking at it, it's in my hand,
It's like an amazing star, but it's ours.
It makes me think of all the dreams we've planned.
I have to get it to you, like I said.
Or maybe I could bring you here instead?
The night has cast its shadow round our eyes
We lay our pillows down beneath our heads
We let our breathing disappear to sighs.
The night has come and we can now recharge
The batteries that wasted through the day,
And all the things we did that seemed so large
Are now transparent in their special way.
I close my eyes and watch my thoughts retreat
I stumble back through images and dreams,
I walk the world on twisted yellow feet
Where all is backwards yet still as it seems.
At last the time has come to dream again
And run from all the thinking in my brain.
These little bits of simples from my brain,
The flags wave high across the Buckswood field
It seems so strange to be here once again.
My mother’s moved, the whole world has moved on,
Like traffic passing by that will not stop.
I’m here to meet a man whose name is Jon,
How quickly all our dreams fall when they drop.
How many verses are there in these things?
It’s been four years since I last started this
When we lay down where Roquebrun river sings
Oh, how I long for that past that I miss.
But here we are, and now we are, will stay
As I wake up, once more, Sonnet-a-day.