A fan beats its wings
while the sun beams a smile,
the ring of a bell
atones in the silence.
pick up a pen,
scribble down a namesake.
Look, see, and find a place
for this changing whatever.

A picture on a wall
with a woman bathed in cotton,
behind her a sky
made to raise the dead.
We bow down our heads
to figure out god's problems,
leave our shoes outside the door
it's for him to choose!

Reminisce a book
you never liked,
until you'd finished.
My underachievement eyes
can barely read the lines,
a journey far to long
for a mind resigned
for laughing.


My heart is another version
of frostbites winter excursion,
greenish coloured questions
waiting in the breeze.
When you feel the need
to start treading water,
wait for the right rain cloud
that spells out your name.



All rights reserved
Giles Paley-Phillips, 2005

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