Taking Notes….

I’m in the cafe, again

taking notes

Its Thursday, for some payday

mid-afternoon the cafe is busy

the man in the hand painted

shirt

marbles his words

then spits them out

like red hot coals

each one fused

then a shout, to emphasize

meaning

language is an interesting

conduit

particularly the use of tone

that torture inside a mouth

words masticated

then spat out….

no joy or shape

then the painted shirt leaves

his words no longer screaming

at least the rain has eased

the sky a softer shade

still time for another cappuccino….

 

Thatcher Doran

 

Watching Summer Showers

summer showers

with thunder force

nature’s pain… shouts

moody clouds across

innocent skies

now…. sinister grey

then the noise….

a million blunted

nails

hits the earth

turning clay moist

soon the aftermath….

patches of blue….survive

sun peeps through

blackbirds hoe

the cool damp soil

the smell of cleansed

earth

oh so delicately

soft steam rises

all this, in twenty minutes

while drinking tea!

 

Thatcher Doran

 

A Time of Flowers

flowers of time surround

the frost bitten urn

roses, white and red

incline their heads

carnations and lilies

profusely scented

this once perfect urn

timeless…..

how time and weather

those vengeful elements

have shown their scorn

scars exposed….

yet, like a centurion

it stands

its wounds of duty worn

today, brown clay caresses

that once pouting lip

an open fissure….gaping

terra madre in terra cotta

with a hydrangea head

 

Thatcher Doran

 

 

 

 

 

A Human Ripple

Sitting in a Costa cafe

watching human traffic

as it comes and goes….

it’s quiet…. except for the kids

Summer Hols….

three weeks left

practically a life time

if I remember correct

sitting by the window

at the shopping mall entrance

is a prefect position

for scanning everyone twice!

I see the well to do

by the cars they park

and the down at heel

that worn out look

then again,

looks can deceive!

soon the cafe will return

to calm

when the kids have gone!

as the afternoon drifts…. towards

teatime

but this place is as steady as

a stream

a constant dribble

each story a ripple….a riddle

and the coffee cup is finally

empty

perhaps ….it’s time I left?

 

Thatcher Doran

 

 

Looking at People

Looking at people….

is remembering,

when you were younger!

Or who you might be as

you get older…..

Looking at people….

is who you are,

though, you haven’t notice

at least, not yet!

like the cosmos

there’s a tiny particle of you

in everyone else…..

 

Thatcher Doran

 

 

No Invitation Needed

Some of the most interesting words

Arrive….

while driving from the train

station

Here, without invitation

like flies along a riverbank

persistent….

no doubt with a purpose

nibbling on the ears

but I have no pen to hand

nor scrap of paper

the ribbon of the road creates

its own momentum

thoughts and their egos

collide….

for now, I am not the best

of company

perhaps another time….

another place….

words will visit me again!

No invitation needed

 

Thatcher Doran

Alchemy of Chance

at that moment of doubt

where is the message…?

a symbol of hope

that graffiti on the wall….

or that quoted poet….

where are the words!

the alchemy of thought

for me….

it’s travelling by train

on a Sunday morning

when it’s usually quiet

a fresh new day

or a clear blank page

screaming for….ink

the blood of poets

sitting in a café

soaked in the ambience of

chance

that smile from a stranger

the casual glance

the possibility of words

on the tip of a tongue

the drip from a pen

that alchemy of chance….is real

 

Thatcher Doran