style is a smashed-up story
a strand of hope
fifty different ways
to make a difference

i glare at his breezy edges
and wonder
through july mirror
why his expensive best was
fastened with paper buttons?

eat whole grain dresser
leave croissant
at side of plate
like quarter moon

i process weekend words
the ones written
on narrow bits of yellowed paper
overlooked as scraps sometimes

one part kindness
two parts blindness
time never wasted


by mary ann blinkhorn

approaching winter

my words meant something
but you chose to hear
the accompanying leaves falling
the inevitable part of autumn
that soon passes
clearing the way
for magnificent snowflakes

i walk in cold morning air
mesmerised by fresh tomorrows
showing my breath to
sun and passing vehicles
words traveling
down the same sidewalks
as those days when
my words meant something

i slip on
maroon leather gloves
with silver buckles
pull up faux fur-trimmed hood
tighten scarf
and with gratitude for their warmth
concentrate on the current story
one of smiles and tears
hope and comfort
whole heart rising
to a place where
destiny is kind, forgiving and paramount

by mary ann blinkhorn