Micro Tales x 3

#1

Blue




Broken glass litters the floor.

As I hug my daughter against my shattered heart.

I feel her warm tears.

We sit huddled against the refrigerator door.

All this breakage...

She’ll want to come back to us again…

.

.

.

…I’ll probably say yes...










#2

Green




The sun is a pale disc.

The fog bank moves in from the South.

Everywhere is grey and shrouded,

Except the grass beneath my feet.

It remains green for me - 

even when she’s not here.







#3

Orange




Marigolds

Strung in long chains

Drape from balconies and across pergolas

A hubbub of voices

A riot of colour

An extravaganza of flavours

A painted elephant

A sacred fire

Two souls are joined

Musings (construction, reconstruction and perception)

Does the sun rise for me,

Or am I rushing to greet it?

Does the moon forget to touch me

As she slips below the horizon,

Or have I simply failed to watch anymore?

Does a friend slight me,

Or do I fail to understand his pain?

Does a relationship turn sour,

Or was there nothing there to begin with?

Does the old soldier sip quietly on a rum

Because he needs the drink,

Or does he salute dead mates?

Is life a construction site,

or a constant reconstruction site?

.

.

.

I’m not sure…

Senryu (Darkness)

.

.

sleep ensnares my thoughts
like hoar frosts steals early dew
her mem’ry maims dreams

Mindless (senryu)

homes become rubble
religions bring discontent
life is such a mess

Please leave…

The thought has often occurred in my mind –

Why not just chop the tree down this time

Leave no branch to show me a leaf

And desist with the flowers

Beauty is beyond me

I’ll no longer grasp

At the last twig

Or your hand

You’ve gone –

Bye! …

what’s this…

you’re still here

whatever for

there is no shelter

these branches have no strength

starved of sunlight and respect

they have lost their ability

no longer can they protect you

This new autumn will be terminal

I’ll mulch the leaves and hope for new life soon.

………………….

a double Etheree.

Space

Warning – I have use a piece of language in this poem that may offend some.  I have not done it gratuitously and for those of you who have ever been in ‘the dark place’ you will understand that no other work can carry the necessary emotion.

So please if the use of such a word will offend you, I ask you to read no further.

Here goes…

 

Gimme some space –

Some elbow room.

Time to fuck this up

In my own special way.

 

I don’t need your advice –

Your thinly veiled suggestions.

Criticism is my razor

When I’m feeling this way.

Tangled

Vacillating

Mercurial

Unfathomable.

Through my fingers,

Like grains of sand on a windy beach –

Driven

Balked

Banked

Tumbled

Forgotten.

Through this life I fumble with ideas –

Tilting

Twitching

Missing

Falling

Beginning, and seldom finishing.

Lunging and

Chasing.

These damn brain tangles mislead.

My once noble pursuit seems lost –

Into a fog of dementia.