That Longing For You I Avoid

Green thistled tease
Mounting clean fingers

Abrupt distance rages conflict
Push for air
Blasts of my own echo
Ears pointed to the dawn

Water spits me out
Covers the world
Then draws back
Holds us safely

Struggle concrete
Awkward comfort feels too soft
Out the door

Interlaced in the scribbles
We hide



  1. So many times I want to comment, yet I’m left speechless and don’t know what to say…

    So tonight I’ll say this: Is there anybody named Waldo these days?


  2. Wow. I will take that as a compliment of the highest praise. You don’t seem to be the type to be left speechless, internet stranger – but what do I know.

    Funny. I try to reply to all comments, but sometimes I just don’t know what to say, or feel nothing needs to be said. Of course, I do thank you for your comments. They are always appreciated and enjoyed, and, as always, your blog is one of the most entertaining reads on these interwebs, and possibly the history of all time. Always a pleasure, Sister Madly. ๐Ÿ˜‰

    Has there ever been anyone named Waldo, outside the hidden stripped shirt smiling bugger? I’ve never encountered one. In person, or anywhere else? Unless I have forgotten someone…? Sounds like the name of a pet to me. If ever I decide I want animal companionship, perhaps I will remember this…no. No, not likely.


    1. Oh. Well this is something. Thank you kindly. Glad you found my mad scribbles inspiring.

      If this is a ploy to get some leprechaun gold, however, I’m afraid it will not work. Though I must admit, it is a noble attempt.

      I’ll be keeping an eye on you.


    1. That is a beautiful and poetic observation. I’ve just stumbled onto your blog and it’s quite surprisingly fantastic work. Excited to read more when I have more time.

      Also, nice cider recommendation. ๐Ÿ˜‰



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