Paper Snails

One year ago……in a land (not so) far away ~

Paper Snails

I draw snails on bits of paper and leave them for my friend to find
its an unconnected hug
a cheering up tool
a way to say hi
I know you
when you aren’t there
I’m not sure how it started but snails are one of the two things I can draw
that and spiders with shoes and a jaunty top hat that children seem to like (only the very small ones)
ask random people what an act of love is and most will answer sex
or recount some heroic sacrifice
that’s not wrong there is no greater love etc…
but unnoticed actions have their depth and worth
like agates on a beach they are there to collect if you search for them
and I would wish that for you my friend
I would wish an open heart and open eyes to see that going to a job you do not like
saving the ends of bread for birds
not pushing past the elderly to get on the bus first
listening without planning a reply
not hitting
can be small shining acts and I would also wish your life be peppered with them
overflow with them and
be noticed, be counted, become acts that matter
and you are moved
feel sure of yourself enough
feel enough
to offer someone your own
and someday
clearing out closet a bag may be pulled down from the back of the highest shelf and a
shower of 1000 paper snails will float down
and you will smile…

©jayetomas2014

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About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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