Wasi has something to share

(so, actually i got home in plenty of time, so here goes - last poem.  it's definitely been an experience.  i'm glad i did it, but not sorry it's over - some days it's been really horrible, posting stuff that i'd rather toss, but overall, at least it's got me writing. not sure i'll be doing it next year though...) -- the end -- this is the end the announcement comes over every loudspeaker echoes out of each carefully hung tannoy no urgency voiced but the implacability of the statement brokers no argument house lights go up, smooth, just as the curtain came down red folds drape a velvet silence over what has just come to pass as though it's not yet quite blatant enough an usher approaches, pale hand stopping just short of meeting her elbow as he pronounces again the end of the show he is not unkind, but offers no apology beneath the regulation gold braided cap, eyes waver for a second momentarily bewildered at the final turn of events switch back swif...

-- dilemma -- i ponder and i vascillate truth or spin, honesty or tact sent a mail that told the truth i never got one back

-- 40 home from Bang -- the bus driver is eating a pear enjoying it too, every grainy, juicy slurp at stops, he leaves go of the steering wheel grips the slippery fruit with both hands his eyes riveted on its sadly decreasing flesh chomps and swallows doesn't miss a single drip no wash needed for that shirt when he's done and in between, as he traverses his route he holds it steady in one hand steering and stopping with the other eyes ahead, but sneaking glances at his luscious prize he lingers overlong at each shelter and every late night punter that runs to board waving manically to flag him down doesn't realise this driver's benevelonce stems only from the precious pulp in his palm and once core exits window and trousers clean hands he'll be back to being wicked once again

-- but i'm a princess -- you can't always get what you want the stones knew it, and my mum too and so now i pass it down, tell it her keep her wings trimmed so when she flies as i also teach her to she doesn't sail too close to where pride becomes fall

-- discovery -- read Rumi today eyes and heart opened: have i ever known real love?

(i actually wrote this at 3.30 this morning, before i prayed and went to bed.  the router was turned off, so i figured i'd post it in the morning... almost forgot entirely) -- seeing clearly -- she left no trace, no trail no signs that she had gone except a note to one side, an afterthought a last attempt she left no apology, no story, no explanation except 'i need to be where i can see the stars' she left with no fanfare, and no forewarning there were no witnesses, no farewells she left with no preamble she left with no burdens she left with no history she left