Sheila's Dribs 'n Drabs

It’s not a doughnut if it’s not got a hole. But the hole’s inside. It holds the jam. And holes in your heart hold love.

“Don’t fall off.” His broad back sways, smooth-haired, sweet-scented with hay. Hooves clop on turf then stray with her, smooth-haired, sweet-scented, mail-ordered bride. She stays.

In the library with a hammer? I always thought books more appropriate but language slaughtered lies bleeding. Who dunnit? Bricks’n mortared store becomes a computer.

When words won’t flow, let them drip. When the torrent’s too fierce, stop and sip. When the picture’s broke, let your prose paint something different.

Dreams are made for nighttime. Come the daytime they’re not true. Come the waketime they’re the way to turn night into day. I’m dreaming some-time .

Fathers and mothers, dreaming glorious futures for our kids, hold ourselves back, those futures theirs to live. Fathers and mothers’ dreams promise loving and giving.