Lakey Comess
For a start
               our worlds are just too far apart.
That's the short answer, precision grasping of facts.
It's not altogether fundamentally rational,
commiseration is referenced, found lacking.
Old friends have been living close to the soil for forty years.
It's good to return to hills where geodes are sown,
unusual flowers forced into bloom, once past a birthday.
Even so, sirens have a terrible way of piercing tranquillity.
Best fix shoulder joints with steel pins—when you weep,
bones shake out of their sockets.
A certain type of heart failure is caused by grief.
It is said one may recover, in time.
Transitions should come with a warning—we change,
remain the same, but older.
Days fill with stunning depiction of
storm, outages, shifting agenda.
There you are again,
                              transforming ice clouds to rust.
What choice materials, probable cause.
We’re always (and forever) ‘quite the team.’
That is, we have nothing in common.
Looking into your glass, who's gazing back
and through how many years?
Too many emergency sirens have intervened,
leaving us breathlessly anxious.
Give me a holograph which enhances absent souls, bruised hearts, loss.
Complete each phase as it comes. What follows?
Sometimes you just need a cross breeze.
Thanks for the offer (one cloud to another).
Learning the lingo,
                              maybe we can reset this entire day. Medicine isn’t the focal point. Politics raises its ugly head, gets in your face. It’s possible to care too much. Collaboration takes on a whole new image; makeovers aren’t just for the rich.
When did we change direction? Old haunts are swallowed up in regeneration. Let’s take over, challenge the fern, leap over ficus. All you need to know is the essential Stuff it. That covers sum total, beneath us all. It’s another (whole other) world. Former homes vanish in years, take a step back. Loss is everywhere.
What is it? What non-specific bad dreams are the root of past spiritual meltdown? Only a selfish party would insist on an unstable outcome during a recession.
Qualifiers to friendship (sometime) don’t make for realization.
Strip off layers of perturbed Where did it all go wrong? musings. Campaigns are cynical in their positive approaches. Spine chilling springs to mind. After a while, no answer makes sense. Hence, it is what it is.
Where are you now?
Lakey Comess, born U S A in 1948, has lived in Israel, South Africa and the Orkney Islands in Scotland and now lives in Glasgow. She has contributed to Versal, Big Bridge, Gulf Stream, Milk, Hutt, Otoliths, Hamilton Stone Review, Mad Hatters' Review blog, On Barcelona blog and other publications, also as Lakey Teasdale.
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For a start
               our worlds are just too far apart.
That's the short answer, precision grasping of facts.
It's not altogether fundamentally rational,
commiseration is referenced, found lacking.
Old friends have been living close to the soil for forty years.
It's good to return to hills where geodes are sown,
unusual flowers forced into bloom, once past a birthday.
Even so, sirens have a terrible way of piercing tranquillity.
Best fix shoulder joints with steel pins—when you weep,
bones shake out of their sockets.
A certain type of heart failure is caused by grief.
It is said one may recover, in time.
Transitions should come with a warning—we change,
remain the same, but older.
Days fill with stunning depiction of
storm, outages, shifting agenda.
There you are again,
                              transforming ice clouds to rust.
What choice materials, probable cause.
We’re always (and forever) ‘quite the team.’
That is, we have nothing in common.
Looking into your glass, who's gazing back
and through how many years?
Too many emergency sirens have intervened,
leaving us breathlessly anxious.
Give me a holograph which enhances absent souls, bruised hearts, loss.
Complete each phase as it comes. What follows?
Sometimes you just need a cross breeze.
Thanks for the offer (one cloud to another).
Learning the lingo,
                              maybe we can reset this entire day. Medicine isn’t the focal point. Politics raises its ugly head, gets in your face. It’s possible to care too much. Collaboration takes on a whole new image; makeovers aren’t just for the rich.
When did we change direction? Old haunts are swallowed up in regeneration. Let’s take over, challenge the fern, leap over ficus. All you need to know is the essential Stuff it. That covers sum total, beneath us all. It’s another (whole other) world. Former homes vanish in years, take a step back. Loss is everywhere.
What is it? What non-specific bad dreams are the root of past spiritual meltdown? Only a selfish party would insist on an unstable outcome during a recession.
Qualifiers to friendship (sometime) don’t make for realization.
Strip off layers of perturbed Where did it all go wrong? musings. Campaigns are cynical in their positive approaches. Spine chilling springs to mind. After a while, no answer makes sense. Hence, it is what it is.
Where are you now?
Lakey Comess, born U S A in 1948, has lived in Israel, South Africa and the Orkney Islands in Scotland and now lives in Glasgow. She has contributed to Versal, Big Bridge, Gulf Stream, Milk, Hutt, Otoliths, Hamilton Stone Review, Mad Hatters' Review blog, On Barcelona blog and other publications, also as Lakey Teasdale.