last thing (28/Sept/18)

what was the last thing you said to someone you last saw that and never seen again, all those people years past, maybe decades, that you didn’t necessarily know that particular conversation would be the last you’d ever have with them… of course you wouldn’t have known it would be the last thing you ever said to them and of course when it’s someone who died then it makes it all the more pertinent and poignant and quite often you may remember because of that but what of those still alive, someone on the same planet, part of your past but not of your present, what was that last thing you talked about?… it could have been as innocuous as “see ya later” or even something more involved, either way most of those last things are long forgotten, buried in gone-time, as is often the sound of their voice which you may remember or may only think you do cobbled together from remembering their quirks and traits…… there are those I knew very well long, long ago and yet even though I remember their faces, often clearly, and maybe roughly when and possibly where we last chatted I can’t remember specifically what was that last thing we said when we parted not knowing………

© 2018 robert greig

off-key (23/Sept/2018)

the car becomes a hide, (hidden), simply sitting
still
no one sees or notices or pays a crumb nor smidgen of attention, I am
invisible
not here, not anywhere, under the radar making not a sound, I’m making
silence
and a virtue of my absence
the car
is a refuge
parked or on the move where wind is screened and mirrors give me eyes
in the back of my head
a turtle
snuggled up inside its shell
a missing piece of the puzzle, lost in translation, taken for granted, a second
glance
at best a déjà vu, shading in the shadows, offset, off-kilter, off-key, off the
chart
outside the world.

© 2018 robert greig

burrs (14/August/18)

the wind clung on as long as it could but eventually surrendered to drizzle leaving just sweepings barely brushing the leaves as finings of air were dampened and deadened and dragged rebellious to the ground… it hoped to do more, see another day but instead was given only a taste just enough to extort a regret as rain determined and decided its fate… it had fair warning but when does the wind ever listen to any other than itself, too busy gyrating, berating umbrellas, bullying branches, bartering breezes for the calm before that already calmly walked away when it could unseen and unheard… but in the end its enthusiasm got the better of it and frayed becoming threadbare, a scrabbling, babbling, shambling vagrant with nothing to share but a pocketful of burrs…

© 2018 robert greig