RitualsA Poem by GeeLife's routines
Beneath a muted harbinger text enters stage left,
slides silently east before exiting stage right, disappearing behind a blooming, arrow headed white hosta that reaches out for the diluted early morning light filtering through half open, white, wooden shutters, these the latest "must have" window accessory. Nearby a pendulum rocks restlessly beneath a black, number less face upon which two slow moving, siver, mismatched limbs point to that which is known, but not shown, time told inwardly, unconsciously, by their ever changing angles, nought to three sixty, an endless cycle, round and round and round and round, this mirroring the oft' hum drum nature of life and living. A cold, coffee stained bone china cup, thrice filled and drained, sits atop tomorrow's recycling, yesterday's news. Next to this lays a remote that never is so, it's coloured buttons faded, worn, by the constant fingering of bored digits in an early morning quest for... for... for something other than the same ol' same ol', though this as fruitful as the search for the pot of gold at rainbows end. Above, upstairs, a creaking floor rouses the two sleeping dogs that bookend me, their soft, warm, bodies snug against my thighs. They drop lazily to the floor, stretch, yawn, then trot slowly over to greet " mum" as she enters the room, their happy tails beating an excited welcome off any furniture passed. " Morning honey, coffee? " And so another day begins © 2020 GeeAuthor's Note
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StatsAuthorGeeMilton keynes, United KingdomAboutDevoted family man and lover of life. Simply written, easily understood "stuff" for those without code breaking skills. You will NEVER need Google to understand me:) more..Writing
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