By Default

If nothing is absolute

Then, by default

Everything is possible!

 

Thatcher Doran

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Blue…Solid

Waiting at the station

Early morning sky is

Blue…solid

But gentle on eyes…still tired

A sandstone wall sits

Capped with galvanised

Rods

Standing to attention

Saluting a new day

A performance yet to come

Modernity as a play

The actors waiting in the wings

Or on the train…waiting

Mesmerised by colour

By a blue sky touching

That soft honeycomb wall

All the while the train is

Humming

All in the infinity

Of a moment

Somehow, surreal

 

Thatcher Doran

 

 

 

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Spin and Spun

Yesterday and today

I watched the cycle

Resume

The speed of modernity

Seems almost…breathless

Reduces the circle

Solidifies perspective

Until…there’s none

But the cycle continues…

With minds and hearts

Infected

Merely collateral

The never-ending spin

The lies that are spun

In the name of whom…?

Life is a game

Of hide and seek

And then, there is none

 

Thatcher Doran

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Those Things…

Those things…

What we hear…but can’t repeat

What we feel…yet can’t see

What we know…refuse to tell

Those things in life…

That catch your breathe!
Thatch Doran

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To Coin a Day

A day has another side

Think of a coin

Lying on the ground

Quietly

Undisturbed by passersby

Like a shadow in the sun

Now you see it

Then, it’s gone…

 

Thatcher Doran

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Retell a Lie

I have forgotten their faces

Eyes through the cafe glass

A casual diversion…

But it’s not

A glimpse of the world

As it stops and starts

Traffic lights, green and red

A view from the table

With permission to look

Sipping coffee taking notes

While lives are in flux

In a slice of Time

Looking at the masks of

Strangers

Sustaining a facade

All the while living a lie

The same old story…

Just different folks

 

Thatcher Doran

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Besides the Reality of Pain

Staring at the faces

Of Monday morning strangers

Waiting for a sign

From the muted sound of feet

Hear the silent echo…

Evaporate against the cafe glass

Like the blank page

Waiting for ink…

The anticipation of a moment

To interpret what is real…

Besides…the reality of pain

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In the Skin of Life

Poetry is the splinter

In the skin of life

You may not even

Notice It…

But you’ll feel better

Once it’s out!

 

Thatcher Doran

 

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Even the Deaf…

In the quieter moments

We all hear those voices

Fear and Hope

Even the deaf…take note

Hear their echo…

 

Thatcher Doran

 

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See the Road Ahead…

See the road ahead

The flat, the dip

Those narrow bits

The whispering hedgerow

On either side

Or the city path…hear

The echo of missing

Footsteps

Between avenues of brick

Or tree

See the life ahead

You might…you think

Could it be real?

Do you understood the nuance?

Feel the beat

And what about the unknown

Will you cope?

Withstand the heat

Survive the cold…

See the road ahead…it’s Yours!

 

Thatcher Doran

 

 

 

 

 

 

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