cool autumn morning
rain clouds edged
with remnants of dawn
the cats go out early
liking this lapse in the heat
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Monday, March 5, 2012
Leaf
(Written as a WordsFlow exercise 11 Nov. 2011 and just rediscovered.)
I found a brown leaf, curled and twisted, with one red spot on the front near the stem, and a little hole the other end, like a pinprick. Did an insect start to eat it and give up? Did it get damaged falling from the tree? What tree? The wind must have blown it quite a way. It has yellow spots too, very small, very faint, and the veins are strongly marked in darker brown. The underside is paler, more golden brown. The stem is only half as long as the leaf. It’s a graceful, pretty thing, scalloped, fluted, with a point at the tip. It’s ephemeral, isn’t it? If I take it home to keep forever, it will dry and fade and crumble and I’ll end up throwing it away. I’ll throw it away now, back to the air and the earth.
I found a brown leaf, curled and twisted, with one red spot on the front near the stem, and a little hole the other end, like a pinprick. Did an insect start to eat it and give up? Did it get damaged falling from the tree? What tree? The wind must have blown it quite a way. It has yellow spots too, very small, very faint, and the veins are strongly marked in darker brown. The underside is paler, more golden brown. The stem is only half as long as the leaf. It’s a graceful, pretty thing, scalloped, fluted, with a point at the tip. It’s ephemeral, isn’t it? If I take it home to keep forever, it will dry and fade and crumble and I’ll end up throwing it away. I’ll throw it away now, back to the air and the earth.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
I Open My Door
I open my door
to the wet world
morning after rain
the temperature now
cooling to autumn
even the near hills
are hidden by cloud
and the trees
in the still air
drip gently
Saturday, February 11, 2012
From the Clouds
From the clouds piled above the mountains
tendrils of light reach down into crevices,
long white fingers probing.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Monday, January 30, 2012
This Kaleidoscope
This kaleidoscope that Janet gave me
twenty years ago
has never left my desk —
whatever desk, in whatever house.
Tiny gold tube
in slim black drawstring bag
of hard-wearing felt
(more like charcoal grey by now)
it’s a miniature kaleidoscope,
designed for reminding me
of childhood dreams
with grown-up elegance.
I hold it to the light
and turn the end.
The coloured lumps of glass
tumble, forming flowers and stars.
twenty years ago
has never left my desk —
whatever desk, in whatever house.
Tiny gold tube
in slim black drawstring bag
of hard-wearing felt
(more like charcoal grey by now)
it’s a miniature kaleidoscope,
designed for reminding me
of childhood dreams
with grown-up elegance.
I hold it to the light
and turn the end.
The coloured lumps of glass
tumble, forming flowers and stars.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Mouths
They are attracted,
you can see in their mouths
which look at each other like hungry eyes,
talk to each other like making kisses.
you can see in their mouths
which look at each other like hungry eyes,
talk to each other like making kisses.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
A Dry Day
A dry day (mostly)
though heavy with cloud.
Town is grey,
empty. Even the air
feels exhausted.
There’s a piquant smell
not quite sour
not quite sweet —
some kind of plant
reacting with all that water?
though heavy with cloud.
Town is grey,
empty. Even the air
feels exhausted.
There’s a piquant smell
not quite sour
not quite sweet —
some kind of plant
reacting with all that water?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)