A heavy grey day
out and about for a stroll
A rare quiet day
No raindrops fall
the wind doesn’t whisper
No birds singing
A recluse to many
walking past a cafe
A nostalgic scent
from 1832
Moving Apart
We both grasp the things we once thought we had, those things that made our love a fire.
Since David died, you said I changed. I did. I started to write again after many years.
With each word, we move further apart until the last word we say is goodbye.
The Disappearing Fog
Enveloped in fog;
driving to nowhere,
we falter.
In the aching abyss,
the fog comes quickly;
we brake.
Voices hold us still;
downtrodden cries,
eerily alive.
We disappear softly;
as if we are nothing,
forever gone.
Roots of Love
Twisted bodies
intertwined
the roots of love
Hemlock dreams
gnarled twists
do devour hearts
Agony & Ecstasy
frozen
together forever
The Neighbour
How will he be mine?
Cat-like in her scheming, a devious plan develops.
A frog lover, she thinks ‘danger’ and dresses as an Ophidian.
Slinking along in the grass, she never saw the snake.
He saw a flurry of grass, a flying snake, and the cute neighbour running towards him.
Love’s Word
We look towards the horizon without saying a word;
you, and I know we are beyond those words.
Yet we dream, we laugh, and we think of one word;
we look, we think, and we say love’s word.
Prodigy
An urbanised prodigy.
While playing the violin, his teacher said, “You need to understand nature for this piece”.
Baffled, he said, “I don’t understand”.
The teacher said, “You hold wood and shellac; you touch horse hair and resin. Is this not part of nature?
“I guess”.
A Warm Fire
we walk in the mist,
we walk in the cold
you talk about nothing,
I talk about everything
we arrive at a warm fire
we arrive at a hot stew
you set the table,
I pour the champagne
and
then
the ice wine
Finding a Friend
Out there in the forest,
running from herself;
determined to hide from him,
even if her teeth rot out of her head.
She will not yield.
Crying alone in the forest;
a wolf appears in the distance
and she is caught off guard.
The tears stop.
She is lost in the fur of a hug and a kiss.
Found, she stands up and walks away;
for so much of her life, she ran from herself.
Now she walks with a friend.
The man with no heart can rot in hell.
Lake Games
The fog gathers, caressing the trees;
The trees see their reflection on the surface;
The lake’s surface is their mirror.
The mirror reveals what the trees want to see;
The fog clouds their judgement;
The lake plays games with the wise old trees.
C & K 