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Indecent Acts

Sometimes I read things I have read many times before and find myself wondering how on earth I could have missed such and such a nuance or blade to the heart but there are some pieces I read and have re-read till words fade on the page from the seeing which in their faded state are always wide awake and kicking in ways that make my heart sing and weep at the same time, which allow me to touch and be touched and most of all give me words for the next moment that may to another’s eyes and heart meaningless or puzzling as to why I am so involved with a few sentences, enough to carry the book they are contained in for twenty-five years.

Each Day

This morning after a few days of celebration and sharing with my 'bestist friend', I am once more in a morning of putting bins out, hanging washing to dry, hoovering floors and all things that make up my 'normal' daily life. In a short while the three of us will set off once more to the vetinary hospital and hope that following an unscheduled visit on Wednesday there has been progress to make us all smille and that taking of stiches out will not be too traumatic for sweet Rhys who has stayed smiling through my redressing and bathing his foot sprinkling antibacterial powder with abadon and encasing his foot and leg in a 'boot'. Consideration of the large lampshade collars that are often fashion statement after doggy operations was not a possibility as last time he had an accident he wore one with aplomb until missy Banon decided she wanted part of the fun and got her nose and head jammed inside the collar too....interesting cutting them both clear!

Waiting

Waiting at the Breathing Hole

by Susan Richardson

The white of this screen burns

my eyes. Its unswerving glare

might well make me snow-blind.

There was a time when words would fly

across the screen, like a dig-team speeding,

each at its peak and pulling

equally and all I’d have to do was leap

aboard the sledge, guide it in the right direction,

then relish the ride.

But suddenly, we hit uneven ice.

      Bumped over ridges.

I fell from the sledge. The dogs fled.

The instructions I yelled had no meaning.

So now, with tender eyes,

I must hunt for a hole in the white.

and wait

patient

at the rim

for the whiskered nose of inspiration,

for a flippered urge to surge to the surface.

And when it comes, I won’t shoot it,

harpoon it skin it rip its liver out and eat it raw

leave banners of blood on the snow.

No. I’ll feed it all the saffron cod and shrimp it needs,

teach it to move with the ease it knows beneath the ice,

but first, I’ll take a few steps back and just let it

breath

appologies to the poet I just can't get the poem to appear on screen as it is set out on the page...maybe a good reason to have the book:0)