Poems

My poetry has taken a back seat this year. I’ve been concentrating on writing articles and finishing my novel. But it’s nearly there! Only a few chapters to go. It’s a children’s novel for older readers. I’ll tell you some more about that another time and maybe even share a snippet or two from the text.

Meanwhile – thank you next-door-neighbour poet friend, Helen, for reminding me about poems! Here’s some from my poetry archive:

forgotten

two shadows merging
stark and soft
like falling petals
turning in the breeze
dancing a death waltz
till they lie still
on cold earth
life blown silently away
like irrelevant thoughts
discarded
forgotten


Minou

Aware of the clock
that yesterday ticked in silence
I have learned to
savour these moments;
you curled on my lap,
nestled close, relaxed.
I watch the rise and fall
of your small body,
each breath a memory
of feline mischief.
I stroke your ragged coat,
trace the skeleton landscape
under my fingers,
aware of the slightest twitch
of whiskers, curl of tail.
I watch you as you
watch me with your
one eye open,
a perennial wink
of approval.


life is a garden

my garden is a refuge from the hum drum
sanctuary for saturdays and thursday afternoons
or any sunny moment, stolen
held close in a lover’s embrace
I sit on the garden seat, positioned for filtered sun
regard tenderly
flower beds, loved and nicely mulched
watch bulbous harbingers of spring
burst fresh from womb of earth
in neat borders around hand mown lawn
admire pristine paths where
remnants of autumn have been swept defiantly away
with scorn and admonition
hens conveniently confined
all is well

from my garden seat
the world is ordered, predictable
I close my eyes, pretend not to see
the hungry crocodiles in the shaded pond
the hens in detention pacing back and forth
carrying placards reading ‘freedom for chooks’
the lone seal that has come to sit next to me on the seat
strange I haven’t noticed the loneliness monster before
until I watch him slink awkwardly away
hiding in the shadows of the garden
afraid of the seal
eyes still closed I feel my spirit soften
like a bleak sky turning purple at dusk
I feel fingers of warmth, dappled
caress my being, teasing
seductive whispers in nearby trees
share soul secrets

in a flurry of impulsive, unbridled spontaneity
I let the chickens out
catch the loneliness monster by the hood
feed him to the crocodiles
return to the seat and gaze long into the seal’s eyes
in their reflection I see my authentic self
the sacred soil of my being
rich and fertile, ripe for growth
I see too, unearthed bulbs
freshly potted cuttings, forlorn
paths strewn with mulch
vigorous digging and hungry beaks
wreak glorious havoc
I am torn
my garden will never be the same


I don’t want to be a cliché

I want to live in a tree house
with windows to open sky,
no doors to lock in my dreams.


I
want
to
look
down
on
the
world.

I want to be loud and colourful
with wings that flap in the face of fear.
I want eyes that can see
feigned passion a mile away,
feet that baulk at the hot pavement of failure.
I want to live in a tree house
with windows to open sky,
with excellent views of the sunset.