I woke this morning on a breath
That came from somewhere unknown.
The room was lit with opal light
Threatening my sense of presence.
The window view was Summer and already hot,
So much hazing green; and crisping brown.
Pareidolia was everywhere,
In shadows, bushes, Mukberry trees.
Life seems to have completely changed.

Much solidarity is being stripped –
Like the dried leaves off the trees –
And all about is uncertainty,
Unsound ground, new disorder –
Forest fires, and war that seems everywhere!
Yet I am not with great despair,
Insanity, or mental ‘fracticality’,
Or loss of my essential celtic core.

The season of holiday is here
In my place, world,  of changeability,
Inflation, and fragmenting democracy.
Only my soulmate will raise a glass
Over a vegetarian lunchtime meal,
With wine, or more likely orange juice,
And there will be a tear in my eye
For all the scenes that are banked
In those mystic akashic records.
There’ll be none other to share a toast
Within the range of my physicality.

Those others, and the whole outer world
Including the snooping army helicopter -
Beyond my glassy auric armour –
Could all be imaginary souls
And nostalgic manifestations that
I watch from within my camera obscura,
Whilst I am secretly seated
In some mystic directorial chair,
Painting a suppositious World
That seems, suddenly, upside down.

© griffonner 2026