Monthly Archives: September 2014

Carnival

Summer;
I was still visiting my father.
On weekends ;
Before the lights went out
And our time ended.
He would take me to the park
And the world would slow down.
Surrounded in Popcorn,
Candy floss and rides.
Sounds of my own laughter
Echoed in the faces of the other children.
He would stand waiting for me
Smiling in the background.
Looking back,
I would give anything to
Know what he was thinking.

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English Churchyard

IMG_6033

Call

Their call

Speaks of a

Beginning

And

End.

They will leave you

Behind

with the frozen designs on the

Glass.

Lost in their own call.

The open sky

and the autumn leaves

Mark their exit.

Creation

He smiled

As he ripped the canvas apart;

Too large for practicality.

The dark corner of

His ego danced with

Fiendish abandon.

She has left it-

Not his problem.

He  had watched her:

Silent,

Joyful

Filling the space with colour.

Distant.

Cut off.

A beautiful statue

Aloof and unapproachable.

Not his.

To destroy

This painting was to

Close the door on her.

Put a shroud over her image.

Deface the mystery

Try to forget.

Precious

Lightning bolts fall from the sky
Ripping apart her meager existence.
Small tents
Cling together for support.
Possibly their unity was too much of a target.
Only blood and bone
Remain when the lightening stops;
And the human will to live.
She doesn’t move
Her cheek pressed
Tightly to her mother’s chest
Willing the present away.
Like a fly on a corpse;
There is silence.
Memory of a heartbeat.
Dead arms enfold her.
Protective even then.
Voices.
She is pulled from her cocoon.
Like birth
Again
Amidst the wailing voices
She is carried
In a soldier’s arms.
To freedom.

Pocket

Her fingers grasped
The parchment:
Foreign words in a distant tongue.
Longing for a tender word.
She would throw it to a gentle
universe
“I wish,”
And “I hope”
Whispered only in the folds of a winter
Blanket.
He said he would
And she believed.
The rest was lost in
The space between
The black lines.

Fall

My eyes turn to the open sky
It surrounds me like my grandfather’s embrace.
In the air there is a call:
A question.
It demands an answer,
But the world is so vast and
I am so uncertain.
There is a music that comes with the changing of the seasons:
A peace
Found in monastic plainsong.
Mingling with a longing
That comes from tenor or soprano.
A call to move;
To change.
To push the boundaries.
To seek more than what is offered.
The boots in the hallway
Whisper of a foreign land.

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