Furniture

This morning, as I had my pretentious coffee,

I rifled through a pretentious magazine,

That came with the unpretentious papers.

Saw an advert for a store selling armchairs,

Their tagline was “Inspired by a dream”;

Amused, I wondered what furniture I’d churn,

If it were to be inspired by my latest dream,

A double homicide, a slasher on the lose,

With the knife dripping fresh blood,

Being chased by hungry hungry hippos.

Freud and Neitzsche, can you hear me?

Why do I always have red on my mind?

Yoga and Capoeira, Pilates and Jogging,

In Under Armour and no underpants,

Nothing brings more peace and joy,

Like dreaming of steel knife in windpipes.

Mother Earth

Wrinkles in time.
Footprints in sand.
The lily in the pond.
The patter of the rain.
Illusions on a caravan,
In a desert of delusions,
The lure of the mirage.
Calling out, not there.
A madman and his whims,
A million stories of the sea
A flashlight and a path,
The sounds of the night.
Silhouetted and soft,
The jewels strewn across.
The water in the sun.
The black got blacker,
The air got thicker.
The tall towers passed.
Against the shadows dark.