Sunday 19 July 2015

my philosophy of why...




mainstream
a convenient delta
mapped by 
rocky fads
knowledge driven rapids
peer pools and
social rivers

but 
what is the source
what is beyond

why do the waters 
flow
why do the seasons
change the waters


a young
barefoot child in 
the sandy heat
of Zinder
is so happy
to see 
the green
of a tiny plant
growing


why can't we 
understand


Linking to;
dVerse

Wednesday 15 July 2015

watercolour...





in the watercolour mystery of  our dawn
I still hope 
to see
to touch
the spiritual
greyscale 
paradox
of Granny Smith


watercolour
Granny Smith
- enigmatic blogger who responded to many poetry prompts (added when the link didn't seem to be noticeable)
    paradox    
spiritual            dawn           touch



Linking to;
dVerse

Monday 13 July 2015

dolls...




human-like
dolls
have a sensitive ear
for sham and
branded
heartbreak
if you leave them
alone
for too long

and
no tossed ball
will ever get them
to acknowledge
to understand 
the hunted game of
fetch


worthy witches know
that
blind spells
boiled by
lesser humans
only lead to
the dark resurrection of
scorpion minds and
a soul hungry
werewolf



Linking to:
Wordle #207

Monday 6 July 2015

crows...




crows
open to healing
splintered bones and
black hearts and
escaping souls

loners
offering
cool clay
to soothe the insidious burning illusion
that crawled through
the mind

like gentle quilts
sheathing grain
until the new life
is ready

to collapse

or

crack


 
Linking to;
Wordle #206

Sunday 5 July 2015

still searching...

 
That is such an intent look on the sculpture. 
I would be quite tempted to turn and see what the artist had them looking at... X


hibernating in a winter glaze could be healthy

it's the season
for icy grey clouds
and endless rainy days
when looking through a window
rugged in some old blanket
is a special kind of joy
long missed

writing away 
the endless script for pain
is a medication
I know
guaranteed
to cool the fickle fever of
mandatory mayhem

and
confronting the dark seas of many yesterdays
means
I need to start swimming
or at least
tread water

there is 
no rainbow
no island on the horizon

just a spot of late afternoon light
on some flimsy blossom
that doesn't know that
autumn leaves 
are still hanging on the branch

in the scheme of things
it could be a melancholy light
but I won't let it be

instead
at last
for a little stargate in time
I can break the hold of
alarms and protocols
and connect with the spirit of Emily Dickinson

and smile

Linking to;
Poetry Pantry
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