Tag Archives: afternoon

Words Melt…

The routine broken The minutes now… unlimited The days ahead Await Like an artist’s canvas The hours melt Like summer butter As I linger with apprehension Waiting for the imagination To engage To whisper a story Buried Screaming to be … Continue reading

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Not Permanent!

To sit, sip In the cafe Quietly watch See the parade The look, a glare The nuance, a stare The shape, an attitude The style, a fashion A mode in transition So… not permanent! Thatcher Doran

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End of Day

The day slowly draws To a halt Ambiguous to say The least I could spend another hour speculating as to what it Meant! Gulls cry “freedom” Their echoes penetrate The now empty building Just before The six o’clock bell Rings … Continue reading

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The Ordinary…

from the cafe chair I stare looking at the comings and goings of the ordinary people who want to be somebody… to be famous or rich to be googled and envied the ordinary… who do extraordinary things who want to … Continue reading

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Between the Showers

on a June afternoon sipping  tea alone in the old basement scullery gone… now bright painted off white outside the traffic rumbles unseasonal wind grumbles leaving the city street forlorn while between the sips shadows gather dance across the room … Continue reading

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Except for the Day’s Ghost

The best time of the day Is the train journey To the city Is the moment the building Empties And regains its integrity Is the scene from the third flor Window View uninterrupted….. A sky boundless Hosting an unhindered timeline … Continue reading

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To Bridge the Afternoon

I missed the train….. my timetable out of date the guts of two hours to wait the café beckons do I go or do I stay? tick, tick the seconds click too much time to think a cappuccino and a … Continue reading

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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 … Continue reading

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What Sundays Need is Masking Tape!

a latent melancholy shivers Sunday afternoon…. with all its childhood residues the weekend past, way past its best Monday morning begins to haunt tis going back to school…. again even now, that same old film repeats inside my head the … Continue reading

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I Knew His Older Brother

one monday morning travelling by train reading Robert Bolano’s The Romantic Dogs i thought of Him “Terry” it was the summer of ’75 or ’76 after 37 years a year makes little difference i knew his older brother “Alan i … Continue reading

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