The Squeeze

 

I’m about to squeeze this hulk between solid stone buildings that have withstood two world wars and four hundred years of seasonal change, love and laughter in the Aveyron. I’m not the first. This is the through road between wheat fields on high and the ancient moulins along the river that ground the grain to fine flour for the communal bread ovens. Tractors, horses, wagons, and more recently cars and the occasional truck have traversed this route. Today I’m driving the old Mercedes.

I’ve been in Europe for six months now. Hitching my way around France and Greece, meeting the strange, the interesting and the humorous along my way. Striding with backpack or pedalling the tiny trails that connect villages. I don’t drive cars. I’m on the wrong side of the road, the wrong side of the car, and I’m trying to brake with my right foot on the pedal. Sure I have been granted a temporary French permit to drive, but do I really want to exchange a life of adventurous travel for the easy option? I will decide after I have safely parked the car on the wild and wintery hill-top back at my friend’s house.

 

 

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Delirious Sky

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It is a delicious moment,

Delirious sky.

The sun burning deeply,

Her skin starts to fry.

She gathers her senses,

Surrounded by life.

When death beckons shyly,

She submits to his knife.

It’s only a metaphor,

We grow and we die,

And laugh at the Present,

The Goddess on High.

Dreaming

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She sat by the river,

Dreaming.

Singing to water birds,

And frogs in the slime.

Distant places alive in her mind.

It’s not so hard, called the grasses wild,

You’re rooted to earth,

This isn’t your fault.

It’s a breathing, crumbling, uplifting result.

Her thoughts began shifting,

She rustled her leaves.

Wind carried her desires,

And soon there was peace.

The elements colluded,

Earth, water, air and fire.

She picked up her roots,

And flew to the sky.

The Art of Nothing

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There is nothing to say, she laughs. The door swung on it’s hinges, uncertain whether to open or close. The window, wide-eyed, allowed the light to enter, but only with a certain discretion. Cicadas screamed. Over-ripe figs fell to the ground. The walls bared their souls. And the day passed away.

 

 

 

 

 

Shattered Silence

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There is nothing here but this piano and an odd odour left by the past inhabitants. I have escaped from my prison and I play like a mad woman. Silence shatters on solid floor. Light breaks on fragile skin. I am ready to penetrate the abyss and enter your world. It matters not if this is present, future or past.