.
alone in this dark
while my wrists, they gently weep.
waiting for the light
poetry
All posts tagged poetry
As promising as a waving hand.
As possible as a forgiving look.
As suggestive of a half smile.
As rewarding as a backward glance.
These subtle gestures,
Sometimes misread –
Give hope then steal the soul.
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
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.
Brash young mountains,
Flaunt their snowy caps.
Calm, time and weather worn hills,
Shepherd the crystal rivers
Towards an ancient sea.
Fertile land supports,
Ponga, Kauri and Black Beech.
Kakapo, Takahe and Kiwi,
Patrol temperate rainforests.
Above mighty coastal cliffs,
Albatross soar, while below,
Yellow Eyed Penguin
defy the surf; and nest.
This land administers.
She sustains the spirit
Of all who witness these gifts,
Under a sky streaked,
With a long white cloud.
His scarred finger Gingerly drags the lace. A blunt nail raises a pink line On her perfect breast, Pointing, to her dark nipple - Where his gaze now lingers. His weathered, chapped lips Gently press the warm bud. Tired eyes half close - A lonely mind remembers Moments savoured, During years of marital bliss. He remains this way - Breathing and remembering, Caressing the memories. Holding every precious moment Of time spent, before she'd died - While the escorts' slender hand Reaches for the money, On the bedside table.
This land is girt by sea yet lacks the rain.
So the dam is dry for the first time –
I remember swimming in it.
You dived from the old jetty.
We watered our gardens,
Our lawns became green,
Our wallets fat.
We used it.
No care.
Dust.
in the field I see
furrows formed by just my hand
abundance is mine
