Real photos lived in dusty frames or well thumbed leatherette albums Expectations of two dozen memories developed and delivered No immediate gratification Shared with a cuppa and a story Not a pithy quip to a digital nation
We are just pawns in a game of chess. We've all been left in an Eton Mess.
Who cares what I have to say Just a middle aged dad with a mortgage to pay Who am I, well if you listen to the rumours I'm to old to be millennial, to young to be a boomer.
But daddy what? This one's got me on the spot But daddy why? I long for the days when you just cried. But daddy how? Your up to 300 questions now But daddy when? You just keep asking again and again But daddy who? The answer me, always me.
Better half could better see A better you, to better me You are my reason to try The only one to make me cry Better still and best of all A better friend to break my fall Love speaks exactly what it see's Without that loves just fantasy
Image by Pantalanium
Too lazy to read Too busy to chew No time to have a Conversation with you Leave me a message Leave me alone Why would you talk to someone On the phone Who carries cash Who calls a cab No need to leave home, I'm the immobile hermit crab.
I like the morning The path untrodden and the flag firmly furled They clean the detritus of the night before When I hid behind my hotel room door The wilderland forged from clay and sand Fresh foliage from a spray can Gives up it's starting role as, The bustle steals my quiet stroll
Apparently I'm the Muffin Man I don't live on Drury Lane But when faced with mounds of baked goods I choose the muffin...again Apparently I'm the Muffin Man I'm not a fan of change So when there are no muffins It causes me some strain I know that I'm the Muffin Man And what you might not see I find a comfort in consistency That soothes anxiety.
When the clarity of youth has faded and left you with a world view smeared in shades of grey You still carry the same values But a fear of loss Has obscured them with too many coats of gloss
(image from this article about slacktivism)
There's a harsh beauty in her her fairer sister can never hope to possess. It can't be replicated only worn in over time like a fine patina Stews of rich red wine with musky herbs of depth and desire added slowly over time A beauty that creeps on you like a dreich November fog Settling the silence of a soft Sunday lie in. Tea, toast and icy cuddles
(image by dark777fairy)