Monday, August 8, 2016

Monday WRites 69

[image courtesy the imaginary garden with real toads]

So he peeled the bananas, cutting them in small pieces.
Not round slices, rough chunks, small rough chunks.
He placed this prized stock on the wall. I watched him.
A kind of morning ritual, this.

Down below, waters of The Carenage rippled, only if
You watched closely and intently.
Else, there it was, just part of a vast expanse.
You stretched your mind, but couldn't,
Try as you might, fathom width or depth. No brainer.

Vacations are like that, time stretches like gum
You've chewed, first knowing its sweetness,
Then just continuing the action of chewing.
But the satisfaction is there nontheless.

So then the birds flew in on coloured wings.
Like hand crafted little trinkets you would buy
From a souvenir store down town. Feather, flutter.
They pecked at the little gift of bananas bits.

Here he was, my uncle, sweetening bird songs,
The kind you listened to, awakening to skies
Far away from home, well not that far away,
Only you couldn't taxi to get here.

BIRD SONGS ELSEWHERE © gillena cox 2016

You've heard about the Monday Blues ❧✿❧ well this is Monday WRites (musing on the definition here of rite, as any customary observance or practice eg the rite of afternoon tea).
Welcome to Monday WRites #69, ❧✿❧ What's your mood like today ❧✿❧ I invite you to link in with one of your WRites



Back Linking to
Voices, Spaces & Songbirds - Dreaming with Stacie
Imaginary Garden With Real Toads