Summer clouds

Writer's block

Grasping at formless thoughts, they twist and flicker like shadows cast from a flame, then vanish. Frustration lingers, I imagine it smells of burning.

Empty Room

You come to know the sounds of a building.

The gentle hum of working machines...

air and water whirring through pipes...

ticking clock.

When alone, your limbs and mind relax into these sounds.

Like a baby, settled in its mother's womb,

listening to the sounds of her body.

They are sounds of existence.

They do not instruct,

they do not call for movement,

they simply are.

A door bangs.

A phone rings.

You remember that you are born.

Eliot's Love Song

T.S. Eliot - The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

A poem’s beauty comes from that moment in which the emotion you are experiencing and the voice created by the poet recognise and understand one other. I have felt that connection with this poem. Its beauty and tragedy lie in its truth.

Evening meadows

Lofty clouds rest on the dusk horizon, like damson pillows on warm meadow quilts. Breathe in the heady scented breeze of the fading summer day.