These small stones were a Mindful Writing Challenge set in Januaryby https://www.facebook.com/writingourwayhome - the task was to write a small something every day - something you saw, something you read, heard, felt....It takes some discipline to put something down everysingle day, but as you get used to it you find yourself taking more notice of everything, and thinking oh! Small stone! Here are my January ones.

 

Thin fluff of straight cut

Aeroplane trail

Diffusing across

The tangerine sky.

 

Window pane smothered

Under a million raindrops -

Greedy beads devouring view

Of neighbour’s lost roof slate.

 

Tinsel litter on carpet at work

Gold, still defiantly glittering

In last moments before meeting

Vacuum cleaners mouth.

 

Silted puddle brownly reflecting

Traffic nudging on overhead bypass

Trembling in unison with rumbling above.

 

Miniature twisted

Thread vein patch on cheek.

Jackson Pollock

London Underground

Tube station map.

 

Elderly ladies voices

Raising hymns to the heavens -

Thin strands weaving in tremulous pitch;

Fossilised birds wrapped in wool coats, warbling.

 

Red cars parked back to back

Like children after an argument.

One with plastic bag taped broken window

Reflecting slightly more good-looking twin.

 

Babies smile illuminates work gloom,

Splits like archangels sunlight

Through gurgling gums -

Pulls at my stomach with puppet strings

 

Scar under eye -

Horizontal crescent echoes

Lopsided smile a few inches below.

 

Low slung sun spikes

Between upright trunks,

Sketching the road with linear shadows.

 

Dawn lights on city horizon

Call me back to my past -

Jiggling neon jelly beans

Seen from village doorstep.

 

Refuse sack in a slick of wind

Takes leap of faith from

Inside council dustbin.

Ends its brief rebellion in the

Wheel arch of a passing bus.

 

Grandmother’s watch worn
To thinness by the years
On tissue skin.

 

Skin clean as milk, brand new.
Hair, black as a Snow White story -
Scented breath, flavoured kisses.

 

Grandmother’s watch worn

To thinness by the years

On tissue skin.

 

Five hours in work shoes leave

Z shaped strap marks on my feet -

Zorro was here, they say.

 

 Mouth, snagged mid caress

By rough skin on my finger -

Hands that work too hard

Touch lips that kiss too little

 

Face appears in the mirror, next to mine

While brushing my hair.

Feeling of unfamiliarity remains balanced

On my shoulder for an hour,

Like an electric epaulette.

 

Dirty waves filter

Through undulant flotsam -

Sticks, half full plastic bottles;

Yellowing polystyrene nestling

In the grip of blue rubber glove.

Dissolving toilet roll garnish.

 

Conversation about porridge oats

And trays of turkey for one pound seventy-five;

Pink dressing gown, half open -

Grey roots beating back red hair.

Old crochet and frilled cushions

Overwhelming cat-piss smell.

 

Fool, fool, fool, fool –

Quick escape  hampered by

Small child clutching happy meal.

Smile at him to dispel anxiety

And bite your lip - bite it down. 

 

Manchild pouts while wife selects his shoes –

Woman offers me my share

Of eye-rolling girlish collusion.

Bless! Smile the lips that have to

Watch what they say on shop floor.

Boot him in the balls,

Whispers foot that aches to kick.

 

My son’s first aftershave –

He mists us both in the bathroom before school.

Now we will think of one another when scent

Wafts in our mutual nostrils.

Smell is a way to remember, I tell him

 

Dog, dreaming on sofa cushion -

Paws flick in time with subconscious running.

Sleep barks escaping from mouth corner,

White haired tummy exposed and trusting.

 

I ask my son how I look.

Nice and original, he replies,

And my throat burns with pleasure

At this off the cuff compliment –

The nicest thing anyone

Has ever said

To me.

 

Oil trailed smears from careless shoe
Taunt me with their calculated blemish.
Spots mark a circle, occult trap
Through which I cannot pass.
I hate you. I hate you.

 

My sorrow is the colour of bruises, purple and brown;

My heart is scratched with green and black,

The colours of fury and pain.

My son bangs on the bedroom window

To wave me off for work.

My love for him is a rainbow.

 

Supermarket car park, terrible weather, wet –

Women stand in queues chewing their lips.

I wonder if, like me they dwell on the unsaid;

Slip the words out silently, between raindrops -

Fantasise about them finding their targets.

 

I want! Bawls kid who yearns for plastic train.

We all want things sometimes, I smile.

We all want things we cannot have:

We long, until longing carves a tunnel in our chests -

But I do not tell him that.

It will become apparent soon enough.

 

Gorse in early mist, petals too readily opening

To the smallest intrusion of light.

Honey smell unfurls from tightly balled bud

As thorns concealed within prepare themselves

For Nightingales breast.

 

Hello, goodbye, thank you very much, grin

Hi, how can I help you, sorry, no fivers, grin;

Can’t find your size? What a lovely baby, grin.

Twinge in my chest, recalling your narcotic smiles

Hooked into my sternum, sharp.