When I Sleep


Billowing cloud formations in tired pristine shades, glide
as comforting pillows dressed in satin’s sheen, and come to rest
over the young growth of feathery down; tremulous and tender,
they warm their feet in quilted beds of mother’s earthly brown.

A patchwork cloth spread forth tells of a sad love story
in the arid fields of wheat and hope and uninterrupted glory. Woven
threads of green and gold – embellished thoughts of rich tapestries,
are delicately edged with the lace of nature’s bold.

Lazy days and ravenous dreams unfold as I surrender my head
to many nights on crisp, dew sheets, where I think of you;
their coldness all but touches the warmer sky, and I succumb
to the wafting darkness of tonight’s lullaby.

Sultry expanses, tinged with our burnished gold, move when wind
swims among the grass, and their ripples wash away the cobwebs
of a dark summer’s night… I remember you and the autumn leaves
as we lay in fields of barley…

will you come to me while the straw remains untouched, and lay
with me in my field of dreams?

Daily Post prompt Clouds

Jitter #28

Education is key today. Armed with knowledge they would soon discover that they are rebelling against themselves ironically, hating themselves in the process, and hurting the rest of us.  On the bejitters blog there are other fascinating insights of the everyday, take a look, and ask that you make yourself known so that a reciprocal thang be formed  with you lovelies (and not so much leave a stamp here for me), but ty.


The man gazed in amazement at the sight before him.

“I will grant you three wishes,” the genie said, his arms crossed, floating in mid-air as genies have been known to do.

The man looked around him, at  the rainbow of skin colors and ideologies surrounding him. There was a young woman wearing a hijab. There was a man with dark skin waiting for the bus.

“My first wish,” the man said gleefully, “is for all immigrants to go back where they came from.”

“Granted!” the genie toned in a loud voice, and in a flash, a small percentage of people disappeared from the streets. The young woman remained. The man waiting for the bus remained.

“What?” the man asked, his pale skin turning slightly red. “Why are they still here?”

“They are citizens just as you are, born in this country.”

The man was visibly struggling with his emotions. “All…

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For Marc Ching and the Yulin Animals

‘American activist Marc Ching risks his well-being to save dogs from the Yulin dog meat festival in China.
About 10,000 dogs are expected to be killed during the controversial event which started this Tuesday.’
I will not place an image because I am too considerate, and do not want to upset anyone – a huge part of me really wants to.  The news is out there if we wish to find it. Thanks to the tireless risks taken in his selfless endeavours, the numbers are slowly reducing… this year.



on the inside they weep because
outside we cannot hear
on the inside they hurt because
outside we’re strangling them with gripping wire
on the inside they are petrified because
outside we don’t care about menus of ancient tradition
on the inside they are suffocating because
outside they stack wooden crates and metal cages, piled on top of death
on the inside a broken paw is nothing because…

…to those on the outside, waiting for food to cook,
it makes less work.

Singularity Markets


Degeneration lines the inside
of a  whirlwind
falling into a cesspool
vortex –
a cesspool of
xenophobia, deflation,
As breakers we can resist
with words and heart and
even with vague utopian criteria,
not as individuals or retreating nations,
but as a whole and at the same level,
to make us a worthy opponent –
a force
to end
contempt for democracy.
Volunteer a voice worth listening to,
find out what it is we are agreeing to –
cut through opacity by piercing the closed
off shuffling of decision makers
and posturing on our behalf –
disrobe the silent decisions
hidden under secrecy’s shrouds –
balance sheets that shield
them from accountability.
Dismember ultra rightwing ideologies
that will rip apart all our festering
wounds – if we collapse it will rise.
Capitalism is colliding with democracy
and a centrifugal force at work
will tear us further apart,
unless we act together.