Linda Studley

Can't Put the Pen Down…

Archive for the tag “choices”

05 Oct 2015

Colour Me

“Men can only differentiate between 16 colours.”
he explained to me as we scanned the paint chips.
I was busy trying to decide between ‘Rusty Nail’
and ‘Bull’s Eye’.
“It’s red.”
Thank you, Dear, but I need a completely irrelevant name
to give to the lady who mixes the paints.
Back to the 16 colours – he likes 8 and so do I,
but, apparently they aren’t the same 8.
We agree to divide the house.
He will choose for the studio.
I will choose the rest.
And yet somehow the studio
will be painted “Chipotle”,
not orange.

#83

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18 Aug 2015

Opening Doors

Opening doors is a risky business.
A certain amount of reflection is required
before throwing open doors and
dashing through them.
Cats know this.
That’s why they linger at open doors,
with last minute thoughts,
pondering the wisdom of crossing
thresholds.

#35

 

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05 Aug 2015
2 Comments

Ripples and Wrinkles

Ripples in a lifetime.
Wrinkles in a dream.
Choices like a pebble
tossed into a stream.
See which way the wind blows
by the bending trees.
Ripples in a lifetime.
Wrinkles in a dream.

Ripples in a lifetime
Wrinkles in a dream
Don’t be looking down
when you’re climbing up a tree.
Hold your breath and float
like a feather on a breeze.
Ripples in a lifetime.
Wrinkles in a dream.

Ripples in a lifetime.
Wrinkles in a dream.
How deep is the water?
Deeper than it seems.
Rainbow’s to the ripple
as the sky is to the sea.
Ripples in a lifetime.
Wrinkles in a dream.
 

#22

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18 Oct 2012

The Paved Road

They say the road to Hell is paved with good intentions,
But sometimes good intentions make for lousy travel plans.

Because, although the road is paved, someone forgot to mention
It’s also filled with detours leading back where you began.

The road to Hell is full of speed bumps, jagged holes and glass shards.
You sprint, you jump, you never thought a road could be so hard.

Then, somewhere along the way, you see this road you travel,
although paved, is harder to traverse than one that’s gravel.

And it’s never going to lead you where you really want to go.
I’m walking down a different path, to Hell with the paved road.

#299

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05 Sep 2012

So Much Room

Here is only so much room for noise,
only so much room for pain,
only so much room for wrong place
at the wrong time once again.

There is really so much room for joy
really so much room to move
really so much room to grow
and learn and try and improve.

only so much room here,
really so much room there,
choose,
choose now.

 

#256

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15 Jul 2012
4 Comments

Cherry Jam

Your nails are lovely,
gelled to rainbow perfection
topped with glowing jewels.

My nails are ragged,
stained with the cherry juice that
jelled to perfection.

We all make choices.
You choose salon perfect nails.
I choose cherry jam.

 

#204

Posted in A New Poem Every Morning, Poetry, Writings and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , ,
21 Jun 2012
2 Comments

Adages Aside

The shade of green the grass grows in might be different but
when I lived in the country traffic noise would wake me up,
and now, on auction day in town, the cattle bawl and fuss.
I guess the fence that lies between is not sound proof enough.

‘Dozen’ didn’t take much harm from metric-a-fi-cation,
‘half a dozen’ still gets used without much hesitation,
but whereas half a dozen city hours can be vexation
six hours in the country can be just like a vacation.

I think it should be possible to have and eat my cake,
‘cause adages aside, it’s not that hard a choice to make
of what to do and where to live and how to chose my fate
I only wish my creditors felt the same for Heaven’s sake.

##180

 

 

Posted in A New Poem Every Morning, Poetry, Writings and tagged , , , , , ,
20 Jun 2012
2 Comments

Live Again

What good is sunshine in a windowless room?
How do you know if it’s raining outside?
What good is wrangling over maybes and coulds?
How do you know if there’s truth in the lies?

But one day the sun’s gonna work its way
through roof and wall and light it all
and the rain will wash it away.

What good are windows if they just face a wall?
How do the trees find a place they can play?
What good is staring at the same set of facts?
How many bricks are in a day?

And one day the trees are gonna eat their way
through roof and wall and turn it all
into molehill mountains once again.

What good, How do you do what you do
when you know that nothing’s ever gonna change on it’s own.
How do, what good is waiting for the rain,
and the sun, and the trees, because all of these
are waiting for you too.

Climb a tree, touch the rain
feel the sun on your face
and never wait to live again.

 

#179

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