Winter Thoughts

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

WINTER THOUGHTS

By Philip Cairns

Copyright 2009 by Philip Cairns

The words are percolating inside me

But he sometimes won’t let them out.

Emotions boiling up,

Like a hot, scalding pot on the stove

Ready to explode.

He needs more sunlight to make him feel good,

Putting healing herbs on Bonnie Parker’s shot up leg.

Winter horrors are here, again,

Sitting in a chair like a rotting zombie.

Dreaming of meeting Joni Mitchell

And misunderstandings at parties.

He wants to stay inside,

Sit beside the non-existent fire.

Touch the cold, hard rads and look at the dark chocolate ass

Of the handsome maintenance man.

He’s addicted to fantasies and the Internet

And always wanting things that he doesn’t have.

A new friend asked him why he didn’t move to Southern California,

Which is much easier said than done.

Standing on a hot, wet beach

Gazing out at the glorious ocean.

He wishes for a glass house in the Big Sur,

Making pottery and painting by the tides.

Spending half his life outdoors.

Wishing he had inherited wealth

Like so many of his friends.

Weary of the years and decades of rejection.

Oh, yes!

Give him some success and money,

All the colours of the rainbow.

Talking dolls with real jewels around their necks

And a well-polished Academy Award to sit on his mantle.

Someone to wake up with in the morning.

No giant bedbugs to bite his ass when he sleeps all day.

He needs to look up at the sun,

To feel the healing qualities of violet light

And art created by Old Masters.

Try some witchcraft and affirmations.

Say hello to a cute stranger on the street.

No more bar stools or telephone blabbers

Or bored psychiatrists who give you no decent advice.

They just yawn in your face whilst collecting outrageous paycheques.

Going to art galleries will give him a boost,

Pretending he can afford to buy an original Monet

On auction at Sotheby’s

Instead of Dollarama angel figurines.

He used to walk for hours in the snow,

When he was younger,

Just to keep fit and ponder where his life was headed.

He wondered when things would get better.

When the pot might be full, again,

With a warm, comforting stew

Bubbling on a stovetop that actually works.