SCINTILLA

As you can see from the photograph, we have shadows cast into our sitting room, sometimes from the sun reflecting on a building and sometimes from the buses that turn the corner by our house.

That's what this poem is about.

scintilla

as the buses turn the corner

they catch the sun and bounce the light

straight into our sitting room

as the driver turns the wheel

patterns of leaves stroke the walls

move so fast and then are gone

in silence this morning

I await the next illumination

My apologies for the large spacing but I have not worked out the updated blogspot controls.

This the poem from the last post with a slight change to the layout courtesy of The Secret Poets.

“Freedom is what we do with what is done to us.”
―Jean-Paul Sartre

the first day without socks

gifted a freedom he had not anticipated

it was true there was a price to pay

in rubbed skin for each step taken

but over time the rims of his shoes softened

his ankles calloused

and even the monolithic plastic soles

previously immutable

slowly took on the contour of each foot

the world limped along

economies faltered

and him by the side of the road

failing to flag down a lift

the rain started

so he began to walk

from somewhere to somewhere else 

We discussed putting a space before the last three lines to emphasise the immediacy of the situation.

Here are the Wave Pictures. 

Here's a newer tune.

Until next time.