Dear world

Written on a day of seizing and winning, and running, and smiling. 27/09/21 Monday, a 24-hour opportunity to make something @a room, reeking of turpentine from oil painting  Dear world, Luckily for you I’m not solving a problem today with the abstract dialogue of my ‘poems’. They are just incredibly fun to write but I'm hoping that I can still connect my dots with you through them. Today, my problem is something like this: What is a way around insufficiency? I’m currently standing in the middle of the least agreeable part of the month, when the cost of breathing is under my neck. I’m talking about council tax, gas, electricity, water, phone and rent- you name it. I’m an adult at 27 at last- it feels like a scene in those movies labelled ‘based on a real life story’. So I’ll make today my very own adaptation.  The plot: I have less than 4 hours to come up of a sum or I will get thrown out of my house. Although it’s not actually the case, I do need to come up with a sum to pay m...

Written while sharp rays flicker in tangerine, through leaves of autumn spirits. 26/09/21 17:39 Sunday, a day that feels like a road trip in the country. @infront of a 5 feet one glazed window, reflecting moving shadows of a tree Dear world, Paralysis of heart, here comes for lunch, what have we to feast upon this daylight? Storms of flaws, if you may, here strike your punch. For a polar flame will shake or ignite. Follow another’s dance or the latter, what do you breathe? To bear, or to propel? A plate of bittersweet, is yours neither? Known days are rich in fuel or quarrel. Creamed farewell to the sun, or feed a wheel? Blues arching to catch apples or repel. Endless squared days, or swim through cold water, only to hesitate is to protest your exhale. What can mere rain take from a stone walker, when time holds the rail road to reconstruct? Sincerely, A self proclaimed stone  

Written as sunlight rips through noisy glass window, enroute far down the unseen horizon 24/09/21 Friday, summer soon meets the end of pleasure @a place of confident hope Dear world, I, as clay, a carved blossom of A ghost, pose what puzzle is left here to ponder? Its light, bearing godly scenes of the coast, fault unseen in all points of high delight. ‘River river on my ground, who’s fairer, of us all?’ Cries a white swan with all might. Wings without words, seeking to intervene,  for all life placed, bow to find Fairest, dear. Here of numbered days, game of unknown rein, for what grand price are we to run along? A trade of obedience, pays skyline flow, for time here quests for bare feet to belong. And what reap, The glass being, is to sow? His clays to tame lions: all He raptured. Sincerely, A clay taming lions

  Written on a humid summer night of 90% dissatisfaction 22:09 23/09/21 Thursday, almost a full moon, illuminating under thick clouds   @a bed of a stomach aching potato  Dear world, What better thirst can sovereignty be, for want and restraint to coexist thee? To flee its home of solace impulses, as arrogance floats on sinking ripples. Autumn, dear, what power can cold drift bring, sleeping, in narrow hall of iced reason? Souls come and go, the world is a mere treason. Timeless breath, run well before you’re prisoned. there, where rushing scarlet river, is streamed. Where, pumps of freedom dash in space of veins, and daisies spring in concrete starry reins. Beginnings paint stories of mighty tells, yet untouched, beauty, is in oyster shells, Deep in unheard waters, lives one blissed pearl. Sincerely, An aging desire

  Written on a morning of a highly fructose and glucose charged energy system. 23/09/21 Thursday, 17 degrees warm with expected sunset at 18:56 @Facing a plate of tangerine peels and bitten apple core Dear world, Tomorrow meets brooding eyes much closer, than dreams to ever beyond conscious dare. To dream is to fly in between forever, but to sing is to dance for next to hear. To bite a fruit is to rule your efforts, today, dear, your fury never shorts. Mind your gap and eternities suffer, poise is patience, as haughty trees buffer. Silence conquers, now your voice speaks louder, as birds fly in breach of skies past their bear. Smiles hidden deep in blue, for anyone, soaring, up you go, is real as day one. To die, in acting, feeling, failing is, tomorrow’s harvest, grasped in today’s bliss. Sincerely, The happy hour

  Written on a misty but sunny morning with air pollution of 3% low 10:47 16/09/21 Thursday, the sun is shining @Across a misty 5ft window Dear world, He first loved you, didn’t he? I’m beginning with this important statement because I want to tell you a story from my high school days, when this guy called Donnie wrote me letters of his affections for me. He even folded these letters into amusing origamis too. But it wasn’t actually a beginning to a love story. I merely walked with him home a couple of times after school, because I wanted to hear more from him. He made me feel good. But it wasn't a selfish act because I also made him feel good. We talked about things we laughed at. His house was miles towards the other way from school but he walked with me to my house that was the opposite way. I thought this part was cute but although I enjoyed our conversations, I never actually entertained this for much longer because I ended up liking another guy, Mark Anthony. I can’t remember...