Sun Kissed

 

            The city pushes, prods –

Intrudes upon my every hour,

I work while shackled fast, state

My case in office tower,

     But on a Sunday,

     Oh but on a Sunday!

 

            Three Peaks call,

Ingleborough, Whernside, Pen-y-ghent –

And I’m flying kites in space to

Replace phobic feelings,

Stealing my breath the air

Is fresh, blows collective din

Back within its nihilism,  and all

The webs the city spins cannot

Catch upon this kite in flight.

 

            Like a pilot free

From radio speak, the watch

Tower far behind, I’m twirling

Vaulting – somersaulting without

A fear of sudden clash,

 

            Sunday lunch beneath my

Favourite tree; egg, cress, an

Earl Grey tea, time of no

Importance.

 

            This is my Sunday, my free,

My thoughts drawn back from the

Abyss,

            My strength regained,

My solemnity in solitude laughing

On the brow and on the lips,

     Sun – kissed, I’m quieter happy.

 

Michael J Waite Thursday 12^th March 2009.