Information Takes Over

As I cycled home,
I saw darkness before me,
and I heard a rumble in the air.
A storm approached.

Then I saw hail begin to fall.
Not yet on me,
but hanging in the sky
like a daylight borealis.

I sought refuge.
As the storm bore down
for it’s twenty minute
wild abandon,
I hid,
cowered under a tree.
A lime.

You know when you’ve made a mistake,
But only when that mistake is too late.

You know when you make a mistake,
that changing anything changes nothing.

So…
I stood.
protected from hail,
but destined to grow sticky,
as the rain mix washed down through the tree
And deposited it’s load on me.

After storm had abated,
I cycled home,
some what belated.
And made a mental note.

To self.
Blast,
I stood under a lime.
Don’t do that next time.

It may be The dullest blog in the world, but it reads like poetry. Most entries read as follows…

• I was somewhere,
• Doing something,
• Thought about something else
• Decided not to

They have a certain “je ne say que” . Indeed.

The need is there;
whether too much sugar,
or too much cheese,
Who can say?
Yet the need is there.

The need is here;
to occupy the mind,
or to burn the wax,
at both ends..
The need is here.

The need. The need.
An obscure thing,
not easy to grasp,
or to see.
The need.

The need.
A desire to do…
something.
To be something.
a formless need.

It sits at the back,
gnawing away;
‘do something’…
but WHAT,
to satisfy the need?

Ever stayed up too late?
Drunk coffee when you need to sleep?
Eaten too much chocolate after nine?
The need is waiting…
The Need.

This was found as a bookmark in a library book not five minutes ago. It is truly bizarre. I can only imagine the references to places and objects contained within this verse are meant to mean something to somebody.

Salvage Song
(or The Housewifes Dream)

My Sauceopans have all been surrendered,
The tepot is gone from the hob,
The colander’s leaving the cabbabge
for a very much different job.
So now when I hear on the wireless
Of Hurricanes showing their mettle,
I see in a vision before me
A Dornier chased by a Kettle.

It could well be a reference to wartime shortages, (after a quick google on the matter) but it still sounds bizarre, and has lightened the last half hour of slow, slow, borrowing trade.

I can’t help thinking,
As I look at you
What your mind is like,
So wrapped as it is,
In woolly polymer.

Brim pulled low,
causes
head tilted high
makes
nostrils peak snobbily

A new class
whose values are anti,
rock/grunge/skateboard,
And nothing else will do.