An Angry Hour

It is an angry hour. Ocean spume strafes sentinel rocks as storm winds shred the day. Tamarisk cowers before a ruthless gale, timid in its delicate beauty. Shingle shivers, chattering loudly with each icy wave that assaults the shore; above, furious clouds battle for attention in a swirl of indecision, weeping with anger for peace lost. However, anger is but a fleeting wound in an eternal promise of perfection, healed by rainbows and the coming of light. Ah. . .all is well. 

The Hands of Time

Hold my hand my darling, it trembles a little now. It is no longer pretty, yet you hold it so lovingly; your touch more comfortable now, gentle and light, less possessive, more cherishing. Our hands have shorter lifelines but longer memories. They have wiped away tears of sadness and tears of joy. They have caressed the new-born and pointed the path , right from wrong. With their partners, they have applauded endeavour and achievement in equal measure; thanked the Lord for his blessings and prayed for his mercy. But right now my darling, just hold my hand, then I shall be holding the whole world in my palm.

They are leaving me

They are leaving me,
the faithful leaves of summer;
waving their goodbyes,
they fly in golden crowds
on greedy Autumn winds
to endless sleep in miry earth.

I shall mourn among the
naked, shivering trees
who face the winter blast alone,
doubting the certainty
of another Summer.

I shall miss the swallows
and their skimming dance;
they have slipped away,
through winter’s icy fingers,
South, to warmer clime.

Orion’s place
beside a Hunter’s moon
defines the frosty dawn,
my firefly evenings, warm and soft,
become nothing but a dream.

Then snow will fall,
its soft white veil enshroud the season’s gloom.
Lakes of ice will catch the moon and sun,
while skidding winter birds
bring smiles to tots whose hands
throw breakfast crumbs.

Fires will warm our souls,
faces glow and hope will be renewed;
enlightenment will cheer,
for Spring is just a sleeping seed away,
and I shall know. . .

all is well.

Good Morning Mrs. Mitchell

Good morning Mrs Mitchell
Would you like a cup of tea,
The roses could be pruned another day.
I’ll go and put the kettle on;
I’m sorry, did you speak?
I understand, you must be on your way.

Do be careful puss,
I’m not too steady on my feet,
I’d hate to trip and tread upon your paw,
you have become so precious and
I don’t know what I’d do,
if you, like my dear Eric, were no more.

Maybe Mary Potter
will take Hilary to school,
she always stops to speak if she has time,
I wouldn’t want to miss her if
she walks this way today,
she should arrive at somewhere around nine.

Oh no, it’s looking cloudy,
I do hope it doesn’t rain,
I hate it when I have to stay indoors,
I never see a soul and
though of course I understand,
it can be very lonely doing chores.

I was such a lively girl,
some said I was ‘a catch,’
the centre of attention in my way.
Now I’m just a nuisance,
very wrinkly and a bore,
with nothing entertaining left to say.

Oh dear no it’s spitting,
Come on puss let’s go inside;
No wait! Did you hear someone call my name?
Ah, good-day Mrs. Potter,
Is it tea for two today?
It is! Oh what a day. . . despite the rain!

Warm in the Whisper

Warm in the whisper,
Late Midas rays ease the wind’s chill.

Deep vermillion stains
The red brick twilight,
painting on the slick black ocean
the day’s farewell.

Along the shore of the harvestless sea,
he strolls, his barren dreams
impediment to sleep.
He stoops, tears strafe
down icy cheeks, staining them with grief.

She plunges down like a hawk
From snowy Olympus,
Apology for wings,
Her love the soft uplifting rush of haste.

She kisses his flowing pain,
Embraced by grateful arms and
Wrapped in forgiveness. . .

The moon smiles.

Brazen Tide

Newly coiffed ocean
curled with highlighted tips,
flirts outrageously with
herculean cliffs.

Lightning spanks the waves.
Thunder remonstrates and
a disapproving moon
draws the brazen tide
back a decent distance.

The curls now straight and
highlights just a twinkle,
a respectful tide returns
apologetically, to lap
the pebble beach
in quiet respect.

All is forgiven

Unclaimed Legacy

She loaned her hair to the playful wind,
to toss and tangle in the cause of fun;
to wind around each gust
and curl as do the clouds
in an Autumn hurricane.

She showed her smile to the sun
to inspire its brilliance;
enough to share with the moon
and scatter among the stars
in a treacle sky.

She offered her heart to the broken world,
to mend its hurt and heal its scars;
she loved the unlovable,
touched the untouchable,
with her kindness
and wisdom.

She slipped away

Missed by the wind and the sun. . .

But the world forgot the love.

You kissed my eyes to wakefulness
and traced my lips with your finger
until they smiled.

Heaven is blue.
I saw it in your gaze,
through the tears your pity brought.

Your essence
was a promise,
kept by moonlight.

In the morning
I dressed in your favourite dress. . .

fortunately it was black.