All I Want Is

All I Want Is a Ride

to the Festival,

where I’m to appear

onstage.

No not all. I want

a great performance

to sell my books.

I want a Plus 1

to take. Not a new1

the old.

I'm still playing with textu. This one is written for Friday Writings #127 at Poets and Storytellers United, where Magaly invites us to write something which includes the phrase 'all I want is.'  

And yes, at the time of writing, I was experiencing some possible difficulties about getting there, but that's now been resolved.

And a few more:

All I Want Now

Recovery

from gut-punch

accusations:

my 5-yrs-ago ‘relentless

bullying,’ my ‘misogyny.’

. 

And, do I still run a writers’ group?

If so, she’d love to join.

Out-of-the-blue comments on my TikTok, which left me reeling – from very disturbed lady who was briefly in an offline writers' group five years ago, and caused various upsets to various people. Apparently I'm the latest target. I have deleted and blocked.  (But this message did have its funny side.)

And All I Want Is

to keep on outliving

my dear ones

even though

I so dearly miss them.

I have books to read

books to write

a world 

to cherish …

memories 

to linger over.

Really All I Want Is

the light on ocean

swirling waves, waves gliding 

to be among trees

watching sky through a tall forest

the sky’s endless

patterns and fluctuations

What Is Beauty? (Textu)

Textu is a form invented by poet Fady Joudah. Including title and spaces, it must be the exact number of characters as a text message: 160. 

What is Beauty?

The skin on my inner arms

like crinkled paper

or tiny waves 

arriving close and quick

on advancing tide.

Not everyone can see

not all know

how to look.

***

In My Dream

I conversed with lightning,

and a large moss-covered rock.

Mostly, THEY spoke:

Get out of the way!  

Or else be one with the earth,

like the first people.

***

Because I Grew So Old

I can tell the value of leisure.

Poet Eileen Miles 

says writing’s waste of time.

She likes that, chose it. 

But it’s not

that the time’s empty.

***

After Midnight

Night begins to quiet;

quiet begins to enfold us.

In that quiet

our inner dreams,

usually silent, 

begin to speak;

only to mute

as light hits the window.

***

Tiny Things

also have life. That coastal 

algae 2 microns across, shaped

as a perfect dodecahedron.

What happens to them

when bits of the bigger world

become extinct?

***

Always a Sucker for a Pretty Face

Of course I fall in love with beauty –

why I'm a poet.

Following a light

into whatever distance

for 

its own sake.

Even when

not deep.

***

Poppi Sleeps

She's having little dreams

and murmurs,

deep in her inner world

which plays

on her outer.

Do cats need dreams

as we do? Are they

messages

or simple release?

***

When I Give You a Poem

I want you to see it

as cut glass

facets catching light

to feel its weight 

solid 

how it fits your palm

hear its call

up at your ear

like a shell

***

Rain Comes Down Hard

It’s good to be

cosy in my home, 

high up.

So much flooding

lately, year by year.

Noise of the water

all night

survivors tell:

huge relentless

power.

***

Poetry

Young

To give my life to

making with words

something beyond words.

Old

Yes what I've given

do give my life to 

poor recompense

scant attention

not reason to stop.

Sharing with Poets and Storytellers United at Friday Writings #126 where I invite others to join me in playing with 160-character pieces, whether in verse as textu or in prose as very short stories.