Rude Awakening

This appeared in issue one of The Yarn in print, so now we're online only let's have a blast from the past...pleased to say it's still pretty warm at the moment!

I mumble and turn slowly,

The shrill blast of the alarm begins.

On auto-pilot, across the room,

A hand slams down, is it mine?

It's still dark, is the time correct?

The cold and her icy fingers creep

Across the whole room,

Gently getting ever closer, a creepy caress.

With one giant leap,

A feat of strength, with all it takes,

The body stretches to get up, it's me,

Another day begins in earnest

Yarn quotations

'Wise men talk because they have something to say; fools, because they have to say something.' Plato

Ceiling Fan

Mercury rises, and the fan is turning, a gentle breeze revolving,
There's barely a sound in the evening air, nothing to break this hold.
Filled with energy, zest and zeal, the rays they love without solving,
And gather at the window, to creep and climb, break through, to be so bold.

Perspire, to glow, rosy in every sense. The rolling droplet, descending fast,
An unstoppable journey in order to cool - too chilled to wipe at all.
From the root, from the brow, I feel it breaking through, how long will it last.
A few more degrees it seems, a rapid flurry, how many drips now fall?

Outside the eve breeze, gathers apace, the wonderful feeling full into my face,
I glance at the setting, the lowering orb, and feel glowing elsewhere now.
Bird on the wing, forms of cloud, stretching and pulling, but never in race.
I'm loving this time, the summer like days, balmy eve, and still the fan turns, and how. 

Late night

You lay back on the bedclothes, and wonder what brought you here,
A time to reflect, a way to find a deeper sense of self and meaning.
If I could help you, nudge you forth, then of course I would, my dear.
But you're on your own with this one, it's high time to find the key.

You look to the moon, la luna, in an attempt to be swayed.
To be taken across the star filled bliss, part of it, being laid.
I see you from the shadows, I laugh at the game, for that's what it is,
Let's not pretend it's oh so serious, many aspects of life are worthy of laughter.

Finality, is held in your eyes, that lead to your heart, that lead to your soul.
The window is open, the time is ticking, and I try to cry out.
Yet no sound ever comes, not a peep, and fearful of future, you cower.
But suddenly, with a gust, a flowing breeze, you are gone from me, without a shout...