Writing, poetry and more writing.
In the cool of the morning
Open a bottle of last winter
The drone of traffic
Icy, black trees sway like the sea
Far from earth, a feral season
Dead winter grass
Clutching her winter fan
Dragging my knees
A sultry morning survives
As an empty shell
In the silence,
of a winter moon
we wrap up in whispers
unpack an old quilt
patchworked with a scent
of old people
A winter moon
Gift wrapped
In silence;
Smoothly creased
Well handled
A quiet reflection
Coloured yellow
Please, please inside
My house is yours,
Hang your masks on the wall
Throw away your armour
The neighbors don’t mind the clatter
They’re all deaf, you see
Their silence hangs
Like a red hot coin, straight from the fire;
A star hanging over them
From it a thousand beam of illumination
Whispers in an ancient language
Trees clocked under mist
A half moon lingers
The cat closes his eyes again
And turns his head
A spider’s web
From thorn to thorn
Silver and empty
Like the space
In the eyes of skin
A snake has shed
Then the leaves shuffles
They no longer part
And the image
Is gone
Frozen in amber
An ant’s pursuit
It’s doom
Journey by moonlight
As it spills through the highway
So many boulders
Yet,
The river finds it’s way.
Blue balloons
Drift to hide,
Covered up in
A blue sky,
Shimmering,
Burning under glaze,
Brush strokes
On a vase.
Over a sunken canoe
pass cumulus clouds
Hastening winds
chase their shadows
up the hills
So many meanings
in and out of sunlight
A pair of swallows
tear up
the sky
