For the first time, in a long time

For the first time, in a long time, as those of you who know, will know, I had a painting of some kind inside me, as the sun rose, this morning.

I wasn't sure if it was a painting or a book, as these things go. Just the abnormal urge to flow out.

I say "abnormal" because those around me, in the rest of the world, are content, or otherwise, to go about their daily existences, as I see them, moaning & groaning and just not coping.

So programme first, coffee pot on, princess school run, 6km walking, superbreakfast, then I made the mother "dad's day" call, to mark our 4 years memorial of when he left.

I'm free then, to root out those brushes, paint, easel, tarps, getting ready to hit the canvas with whatever comes to mind.

Just as when I'm finally about to light that happy, herbal roll, the evil spirits in the air come as the wind, to blow out the flames, so as the bristles hit the white, stretched shroud, the heavens open, and the rain comes down.

"So God wants a hand in this," I thought. And so, shall He.

Paint & drip, & sit & write. The one thing I won't do, is fight.

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People come, but never stay...

People come, but never stay,
They say, they're true, but never do,
They say they're with you, for all of life,
Until, they don't get what they want.

Then the change in their fine weather,
Moves them onto, somethings, better,
Blaming you for all you gave them,
All they've taken, assimilated.

They don't mean to use the gifts God gives,
How one functions, how one lives,
The smells that come from sharing love,
The squandered heart, you offered up.

They idolise & rationalise,
Slidy-eyes, gaze at the skies,
Self-affirming, justifying,
Hating self, and analyzing.
Then, with answers,
make their move,
Movement, choosing,
Their own self-baked,
Home-made reason,
That attracted them,
Just for that season,
Resulting in,
such hurtful treason,
But then, this is their way,
There's not much left to say,
As they've always, gone away.