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I've missed this place it feels good to touch base. Music from the packed bars dancing under a canopy of stars, the late nights and big city sights, even the dirty old river.
Up at six. Far too early. I am grumpy. I am surly. Morning buses. Morning planes. Morning taxis. Morning trains. Bad-mood Feather. Let me lie-in. Then, perhaps... I'll stop cryin'.
This is some oppressive heat. I swear I've got two swollen feet. There isn't even any breeze. No chance this nasty warmth will ease. But it's summer, I hear you say. Fine if you're at home all day.
from a dear friend of mine visiting Washington D.C. "DC is the most oxymoron place on earth.
....
The rain was patting against the car. My leg was resting against the door. The rain was soothing and was whispering hello. The only thing in my head was no. Feeling like an idiot.
Bus, seats upright,. Busy, bumping ride,. Seatbelt too tight,. Passengers being snide,. The stuffy bus air,. Drivers road rage,. Doesn't give a care,. Like being stuck in a cage,.
And there I stood, in the pouring rain, As the size of the puddles addled my brain. I looked around, looked at the shops,p Before being bombarded by large water drops.
Decided to get a bus to the cinema today. Haven't been on one for many years. Owning a car it's much more convenient to just jump in the motor and park next to where I'm going.
. It's hot in the city. It's hot by the lake. It will be hot by the b each today, I know I'm going to bake. No escaping T.
U was feeling retro & easy & decided to dig out my old favorite tee for the day. With less makeup & just a blue jeans; here I was in the train to town.
One step forward. Two steps sideways. If something's worth doing, better do it my way. Shiny black shoes, taking names making moves. Wallet full of money, paper to abuse.
Sitting in a prison, faces dead and bare, Better keep my eyes averted, Better had not stare. But the urge to let one go in here is so very very great.
It's as hot as hell. Don't feel to well. About to vomit up my guts. Gone totally nuts. My throat's so sore. I'll spare you the gore. My voice is gone.
Imaginary friends don't help you zip your dress up, so it takes a little time, leaving the house for the taxi, in a dress skin-tight.
A poem with least punctuations allowing each of you to get a different idea of it . Woke up to a sun-set morning. Readied up for a cup of tea. Washed up, and each drop.
What is that.
What to write about. What to write. There's no inspiration Within my sight.
TICKTOCK went the old wooden clock BEEP went the alarm as I woke with shock HUMM came the sound from the big White fan My eggs SIZZLED in the hot frying pan I grabbed the handle OUCH this is...
So I went to London last weekend and it was great. I got to see and do lots of things. One thing I aways seem to forget about the city, is how busy it always is.
Offices are strange and fickle places, filled with stressed and bemused faces. I sit and watch the clock tick round wishing i could leave without a sound.
I was going out with a friend when we saw a woman with a nose ring attached to her ear by a chain. My friend said "Ouch that must hurt everytime she turns her head.
I went to Bristol last night, For the exam I've taken today. An four-hour exam. Tired and excited after that. Felt sleepy the whole afternoon, but I need to catch up the train back home.
A woman girl at gate eighteen stops stands stock still to the spot rooted Half her face pale bleached white in the New Year dawn is turned toward me the rest concealed by light arriving only in...