Poetry – Page 39

Musical Memories

Tea Cosy warm thoughts
what could have been fades away
Sprawled empty tea cups
pieces of music vibrate
happy memories building

We begin to slow in Autumn as the days shorten and the nights lengthen.

Salads turn to casseroles, and coffee turns to rum.

We find our cosy corner, a stack of books, and turn day after day into night.

When the rains come, we wear our favourite socks; we slow down.

Too much red and yellow
blazing sun on the canvas
chunks of paint melting

The spectre of burning canvas
paint strokes are inevitable
Embers fall from the old easel

Time for the sun to appear
smouldering fire of paint and canvas
The painting comes to life

morning frosty grass
barefoot walking to the fence
my feet are stained green
tip-toeing to the kitchen
embracing my black kettle

Happy World Poetry Day!

And I will find him
covered in sauteed onion
dancing with the leeks
a potato and leek man
my only tabby kitteh

As the season ends
I think about the kisses
you place upon me

A sight to take my breath away,
from the tall trees,
a forest spirit or an ancient god
walks toward me.

There is no malice in her walk,
the trees bow low,
a firefly becomes many to light
her ethereal path.

Aglow in the amber firelight,
I cannot stop smiling
as the moss begins to grow
between my toes.

from the tropical north
snow and ice greet a stranger
no racism to be known

a calm freedom
watching the sea_thatch with new eyes
noises so foreign

to appreciate the difference
coming to love the ways of ice and snow
no longer foreign, my home

a difference in the weather
unforeseen changes
the moss carpets our land

the wound-starling visits
talkative, we feed our friend
a spectre may haunt us

the sound of horses’ hooves
soldiers on the horizon
we follow our friend to watch

a soldier lights a torch
fire licks and devours our home
our friend remains still

Without a fuss, Autumn arrives
I feel a subtle change
I notice the softening
I wait for a year older
The moss will come for me soon