Daily Archives: October 18, 2011
Happy Shower Buddha
Buddha sits on my window ledge.
Jolly. Happy. Red bellied chubby chap.
He always greets me every morning.
With a smile and a wink.
In reply I stroke his belly.
Songs I sing in the shower.
Writing Muse Buddha
Buddha for inspiration. For afternoon writing.
Pen and pad with brooding thoughts.
A single stroke to his belly.
A cheery smile returned with gratitude.
Ideas flow. Pen moves. Words form.
I write because I must. Period.
Happy Fun Time Buddha
Buddha for the party. Sparkling joy.
Bring on the wine. Music plays.
Laughter pours forth. Good times abound.
No Buddha belly to rub here.
Touch the globe. Works the same.
Buddha is happy. Just like me.
These are the rules: 7 days of posts. 1 per day. These are inspired by 7 pictures. The pictures are chosen from BuddhaRocks a funky dude who has a vast army of photo’s on his deviantArt blog.
All you do is pick a pic and post it on your blog and then TELL Evelyn - post a comment on her blog or Tweet her @E_FillingaHole – so she knows you’re playing along. It’ll make her happy!
This isn’t technically poetry because I suck at poetry! I’m a bit worn out from writing Footsteps this afternoon, so instead I’ve taken the #sixwords ethos and blended it with these images from the last 3 days. 6 words per line. 6 lines per image. Not sure it works but hey, I had fun!
The stabbing pain behind my eyes pierced my brain like frozen spears. The painkillers were a joke. Take two every four hours. Do not exceed the dose. Blah blah blah. After three days my living room floor was a waste ground of crumpled boxes and cracked squares of white and silver popped tablet holsters.
Sleep has eluded me ever since I saw the footsteps.
When I closed my eyes to block out the light I saw them still, climbing the walls, leaving their icy white prints everywhere. I had to write this down to keep my sanity from slipping. I needed proof. Proof I wasn’t insane. Who would have guessed that a guy like me would wind up like this? Reduced to a smelly, unshaven mess of nerves and fear.
I haven’t looked at myself in the mirror since yesterday.
Once was enough.
That first night when they appeared on the wall behind my TV I thought it was a moth seeking the glow of the lamp. It had been the longest day, phone in one hand, coffee in the other, keyboard covered in ash and crumbs. I get shit from my boss for smoking in my office. Fire risk bullshit. I’m a salesman, his best salesman in fact. I thrive on caffeine, nicotine and that lovely sexy commission.
What am I going to do? Set fire to my keyboard? Do me a favour. He caught one of the juniors having a sneaky smoke in his cubicle a few weeks ago. Poor kid was propelled out of the building like a frightened bunny rabbit being dragged from its mother. My boss looks the other way mostly, even if he does grind my gears for influencing the rest of the herd. Tough shit. They’ve got brains, apparently, they should use them.
Gotta love the perks, right?