My Place

Stand at a high place and look.

Hair-rush winds lung freshen.

Wind, neither warm nor cold, they’d call a gale.


No bother weather that’d put the good folk off.

Stand in a jumper when they’d insist on a coat.


Wind: releasing tension’s grip;

ferreting out knickety burr-wrinkles;

soothing skackety skick-crinkles.


Breathe Height; ride groundswell.

See aeons stretch; reach out and grip the distance.


Hear emptiness resound: open up to space.

Gasp-release as back-lax ease dimensions drift-skew you soft.


Regard the world below, where the nuisance breeds,

folk create bother, useless huvver-buvver aggro-critters.


See the world of will-stealing households and arguments.

Of jobs of work.  Of I wants and you-need-tos.

Demands to satisfy the hassle-creed.


Up in my high place that’s the far away.

Up in my high place I’m close by.

Up.  In my place.  Just me.  Away.

◄ Criminals

Boundaries ►


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Tue 29th Oct 2019 13:40

Thank you for you kind words!

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Philip Stevens

Tue 29th Oct 2019 00:13

Words you sure know how to use them Rich

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