From Sunday 23rd.

Taken a bit later than sunrise cos i slept late.

Bus

A Bus passes through trees,
Lots of trees.

Through curves,
In tree’d mountains.

I see a village nestling down below
Surrounded and warmed,
By trees.


Outside of the bus the trees end
And a small town appears.
The bus stops
And schoolchildren with eyes still in bed
Board the bus.

Now high
Small plains and valleys lie
Sweeping out as far as the eye can see.

More children at other small town,
And more trees.

Except for the driver
I am the only adult on the bus
And I am going to school also.

Ears pop
Still higher we go,
As high as the trees?
No, lower, always smaller.

A weak yellow suns grows and grows
In the morning sun
Promising
A new and glorious day.


Now at the top
No other way but down,
And down we go through the remains
Of a hurricane.

Bald patches scar the woods
Matchstick like piles of
Used to be trees.

More curves,
Downwards
More trees
Standing.

And in the soft sun
The bus stops.
All aboard dismount and go their separate ways
To the school behind the trees.

Sunrise

Good morning.

Sunday

Sunday starts with trees
And a humid heat
Hanging in the morning air.

Trodden paths
Leading?

A golfer,
Golf lady,
Puts
And puts
Three whites and a yellow.
Big snooker table?

Sweat running
Heart pumping fast.
Out of breath
And my muscles, my muscles…

And only walking.

Girl on a Train.

Maybe she sleeps on the wind
Held in the arms of the breeze,
Warmed by the touch of his breath
Caressed by the fluid movements of air.

Maybe she smiles at the pleasure of his touch
Laughs at the joy in his eyes
Sighs again and again
At the sweet wind.

Soldiers of Stone.

Cliffs,
Rocks.
Soldiers of Stone
Stand and watch over
A small town
On the northernmost tip of the black forest.


A small river
Runs,
Flows,
Enjoys the view
Of small town people
And vanishes
Through a rich valley
Of luscious fields
Surrounded by tired mountains.


Weekends see
Visitors from the City
Enjoying
Their Coffee and Cream Cake
And perhaps a small walk.


Old people watch the young
And the young, the old.
Guests watch everything
But see only themselves.


Still
The Soldiers stand.
Still
The river flows.
As still as time.

Only thoughts move down the valley,
Each one as seldom as the last,
Each one a masterpiece.

Today is going to be good.

Looks like it is going to be a good day,

and it certainly is.