oh wow
where does your poetry come from
she says with innocent wonder
in her eyes
and i take a quick breath
for she thinks the light
is mine
bonfires in the night
but who writes
the song that sing the stars
Tag: poem
Lucidity
i like riding the underground when i don’t have anywhere
i particularly need to be
and i can relax and look at everyone else
and write the stories of their dreams
for some of them hold shopping bags
and some look at their phones
once i saw a woman cuddling with her husband
as they talked about their newfound home
and i once read over the shoulder of someone
texting with her best friend
talking about her trip back to London
and how she wishes she could stay in France
oh yes i know i’m a bit too nosy
but aren’t we all to some extent?
we are interested all in one another
which doesn’t stop me getting annoyed when
the young man muscles past me to get off
but then i laugh as i recall how i do the same
and all the times i’ve almost missed my stop
for i just like writing stories in my head
little snippets of each person’s day
i wonder if anyone is writing stories about me
a girl with a red winter hat
and oversized hoodie that goes to her knees
Doxology
She lays the table with precision
a fine china plate here and there
and there and there
and above the glasses
then the napkins
and in appropriate places the silverware
for soon will whirl in the guests rosy cheeked
and proceed to drop with delight their winter coats
and they admire the table and offer rapturous praises
as they give warm hugs to everyone else in the room
and then they ask what smells so good
roast chicken and buttery mashed potatoes
sage and bacon dressing
and carrots and onions of course
properly rings out the all important question is it time for food
and he answers first let’s gather and pray and toast
and then sing a song together
but when is the chicken coming out of the oven
and he smiles as he takes off his apron
don’t worry dear friends
soon.
Mirrors
she doesn’t ask for my hand
but i give it nonetheless
and she takes it
ruefully
why she wonders
does the world cry
so many tears
A Little Farther
the wilds of the inner city
streets call me
to the farther reaches
of the sky
see the painted columns
holding up the rivers
of the windblown
asphalt kissed
heights
and on the bank of the bayou
a tree that once knew green
catches her lonely eye
Lingering Time
Leaning across the chessboard
that even she can’t see
moving pieces shrouded
by the remnants of their
humanity
the board is in shadows
and the queen topples
in silence
i wonder who moves
the other side
Raise a Glass
Hello my friends, and happy Tuesday! I am in work early today, trying to get some things done before the office fills up. So right now it is quite quiet here and I thought I’d at least take the chance to write a few words here…
A tattered flag waves in the salt fragrant wind, all its faded colours on display,
And I sigh and ask myself if it is enough to merely stand strong and silent
Or shall I pour myself another cup of coffee and begin to have my say?
I think both options are fairly equal, although words serve just to draw out the pain
And at the end of all things, I confess my heart is burdened and oh so weary
Still I trust God and look to that far country as I stand amidst the pouring rain.
So Neatly Written
Hello, dear friends, and happy Friday! I sit at my desk at work, minutes before the clock ticks over to working time, but I couldn’t resist just saying hello. I’m drinking my peppermint mocha and pondering deep thoughts, like say…what shall I do this weekend? Actually, I’m a bit stunned – I’m going to be in Houston all weekend, a shocking development! Been traveling so much lately, it shall really be quite nice to be at home and get some proper rest. But for now, one more day of work, so no rest for me(yet!). Have a most blessed and wondrous day, my friends.
Fingers drumming on the tabletop,
coffee mugs littering the counter,
clamorous chatting fills the kitchen,
Something comforting, this home sweet home.
Penstroke
A morning where a
darkness reigns throughout the land
and yet there is a wind that blows,
a return of sweetness and decency
mayhaps.
A morning where a
bowl of oatmeal upon worn table sits
and brown sugar swirls in dreamy paths,
a return to first love and hopes fairest
maybe.
A morning where a
moonlit herald sings in quiet wonder
and I hear a call to that far country,
a return to truest tales of yore
perhaps.
First Blush
A mount untraveled,
a tree not blooming,
a flag yet unfurled,
and the sweet colour
of the pale of dawn.
I look upon a crescent moon
and I sigh
in unbridled wonder
that there could be such
beauty.
And behold
tulips blossoming in purest white,
stars singing sweet and strong in dazzling night,
fields of wheat rippling in warm sunlight,
that music bliss and those blue eyes bright
oh behold!
Beauty
that there could be such
in unbridled joy now
and I sigh –
I look upon a waxing moon.
The path is winding through the wild moors,
The trees stand tall and kiss their brethren,
And upon the terrace of brick and stone,
look and behold the aching sweetness –
oh the tale of dawn.
Something Weird 