Autumn’s southerlies arrive –
Snapping towels on clotheslines, and
Sneaking under doors.
‘An ill wind’ some will say.
For me it’s a herald.
Reminding me of the the things
The winter season brings –
The season of no lawn mowing,
Porridge for breakfast,
Shorter days and longer, cosy nights.
Making fog when we speak and laugh,
As we walk rugged in scarves and jackets.
The sound of dry and fallen leaves
Rattled against my bedroom window,
As a promising wind gusts.
The weight of the kite,
As it struggles for freedom –
In winters’ brilliance.
Carving a virgin wave through frigid,
salt flavoured air –
On a rare winter swell.
Frozen puddles, and
Red roses –
No sign of illness I say.
Inspire by Beautlotus’ photo titled ‘Dark City’ in her album titled ‘Out of Hours, March 20, 2016’ at “Only Monochrome”
Skylines disencumber, as
Divisions clarify, then
This horizon, is
mine for the taking –
Take the apple she said –
No strings attached.
I snatched the offer
Without a second thought –
Now that apple’s a carrot,
Dangling on a string.
I thought I was strong,
I thought I had free will,
But now I want that Apple,
All the time –
And I am willing to pay.
You ask should we walk
on such a dismal morning?
When for me, the weather is merely cream
on an already delightful idea.
Even with the rain;
Does not the light still reflect in your eyes?
Do not the buildings still stand erect?
Glorified by our observations
as water cascades from vigilant gargoyles?
Will not the crepe
Proffered by the early morning vendor
be just as sweet, as one consumed
when rain declined to hiss upon this pavement?
Will not your lips be just as tender
even when dampened
with a light Parisian mist?…
For me your company remains,
undiminished by these sideshow acts of nature
Through my fingers,
Like grains of sand on a windy beach –
Through this life I fumble with ideas –
Beginning, and seldom finishing.
These damn brain tangles mislead.
My once noble pursuit seems lost –
Into a fog of dementia.