A crystal locket,
found deep in the indigo
shrubs; so familiar.
Inside, a photo of a
woman who looks just like her.
For David
Photographs line the computer screen
showing pictures
of living and dead people frozen in time.
Pausing to look at one image of us
together as children;
Pausing, taking in the years just passed.
Pressing mobile phone keys in horror;
It’s impossible to telephone you now,
as they have no phones in your heaven.
Perhaps thoughts of those roses or
a drink of tea will do to think about
the way you said my name to me
and the way you spoke so kindly.
Her
Hair moving in the wind,
reminding me of the ocean waves.
Wild, dark hair moving, whipping and
lashing at her face, neck and body.
Ocean waves gather force,
reminding me of the storms and cyclones.
Wild eyes stare away,
lost in the ocean, seeking a lost lover.
Hair moving in the storm,
she fades into the saltwater spray.
Redwood Tanka
Walking with the trees
Majestic redwoods hover
hiding their feelings
Shy at first, one starts talking
wisdom from the ancient ones
The Neon Lights
Neon lights keep dancing all alone
as the winter silence settles in for a time.
Empty and forgotten items move
amongst the feelings of a vast wasteland.
Forgotten, empty, silent feelings of
isolation, longing, and unfinished plans.
The door to the pub swings open;
no one exits, for there are
only ghosts in this place.
Cardamon Swirl
Colours swirl
moving cloth
dancing flowers
blooming bright
sunshine light
sadness lost
moving streets
festival of light
Firefly Dancing
Under the Southern stars
where the moonless sky meets the desert
The fireflies dance for us
Infectious, we begin to stand up
by the warmth of the fire, we move
Dancing freely with the fireflies
Shorts Day
Once worn for freedom,
now they’ve shrunk in size, colour;
little shorts, freedom.
Imagining Sound
A room with a few.
Amber light slowly lightens
as the voices begin to sing.
Different notes and different voices
intermingle to create a unique sound.
Amber light is no more
as the voices sing the chorus.
A room with a few
seems to hold so many as we
imagine this unique sound.
Industrial Revolution Girl
Her, my dream
a dreamed-up face
hers is the face of my dreams
charcoal stacks and grime
industrial revolution chimneys
her sleeping face is calm
when she is awake, I think soot
broken by her beauty
too young for her blizzard soul
a dreamed-up face sleeps
when she wakes, who knows
C & K 