Compose the colours
of a winter symphony
to end a grey day
Winter Symphony
Tag: poetry
Knit Winter
a winter grey day
knit the season into a
cloud-covered jumper
Our First Flowers
delicate petals
a vase of dying roses and peonies
falling towards a barren, dark place
faint grey light
the flowers start their transformation
they lose their form, fresh scent, dew
empty stems
drying and fading in the dark place
transferred to a bowl with a gold lid
those dry, dead petals remain alive
if only in their dream of eternal love
first flowers
Monday Mood
Walking through a wintry green garden,
listening to the raindrops fall on the plants, trees, and the house.
What a delightful dream this green garden,
beckoning me never to leave the moss, grass, and the quiet life.
Work sounds jolt me back to a busy Monday,
and somehow, I know the corporate world is not my calling.
Waking to the smell of herbs and nature clicks,
and I know that I can never return to my previous mindset.
With my work cup, my bag, and a picture on the wall,
I take the back way out of the office and travel towards home.
Untitled Haiku
the last of the leaves
to seethe at the sight of love
leaving love alone
Haiku: Untitled
The receding stars
Born into the world fresh, whole
Slowly fragmenting
A Drey Dream
Dreaming again
mumbling something in his sleep
too much beer turns on the snoring
He wanders in the bush
snakes greet him too full to care
A wombat emerges, thinks twice, and retreats
A Drey seems to be the treasure he seeks
he journeys on
and wakes kissing a tree-rat
Dividing Winds
cold winds whisper thoughts
divide people with money
some smile, others freeze
Grey Comfort
The grey day hangs. Sometimes there is wind, sometimes rain, and sometimes there is stillness.
The rain and the wind lash the house.
We sit inside, loving the comfort of home, composing dreams to the sound of the wind and the rain.
We are safe in the comfort of our home.
A Host of Sparrows
From the window stands a tree with bare branches
a Host preen and sing under the grey of the Autumn day
The Sparrows dart and dance in the cold May wind
I watch them going about their busy lives and their day
They hear the window slide; spooked, they fly away
I longed to listen and to hear the stories about their day
From outside, the tree watches me standing alone
another human taking time to watch nature in their day
C & K 