I see you with my ancient eye Sailing your ship up to the moon A wave of sighs crashing down On so many tiny words, marooned
moon sailing
Category Archives: feeling poetic
autumn
You creep in slowly
Your patches of gold scuttle up through the boughs
Like sneaky imps
I blink once, twice,
My sleepy eyes are still full of summer
I blink again, for what seems like
Just a second
But I know
When I next open my eyes
You’ll be everywhere
only romance
The sun grows larger in the sky
Wind whispers the river along
The little waves, they dance and sigh
Spurred onwards by sweetest bird song
The ground is still awash with dew
Morning’s magic fairy tale spell
The petals shimmer pink and blue
As flower blossoms plump and swell
The weeping willows stand and bow
Their leaves caress the mossy stone
Of gard’ners who once wondered how
To tame the earth with plough and hoe
But only romance does remain
Since nature tangles lovers’ hearts
With feathered fingers, writes their names,
And binds them so they shan’t depart
Yes, now the world seems sapphire still
Bright crystal clearness all around
Oh never leave! This moment will
Grow longingly whilst dreams abound
petals…
… so soft like velvet
Swaying in the breeze
Gently bending
Waiting, growing, being,
Basking in the sunlight
That fades
With every passing moment
start
What a thing it is to start to know who you are
As blurred lines become sharp, and old wounds fade to scars
It’s like a rippling feeling, as your heart turns inside out
And all that you are is no longer all you are without.
I sometimes have a moment when I can sense all who I am
All who I could be,
All that I should be,
All I’d like to be
And I think,
“Hey! This is perfect.
This is the greatest.
This is just right.”
And I climb to the highest height
And there is a blur, and a whir, and a swipe, and a “yip”
But I miss, and fall down, hard,
And I think, “No, this can’t be it.”
But I am always changing
I am a thing of the world
And I, like the rocks, the trees,
the birds, the leaves,
The sand in my hand, slipping through open fingers,
I too must change, must move
Must find my groove
Must make way for a new
Momentous epiphany
And discover me,
once more,
always, again,
and so I do…
I keep going
And sometimes
I make a start
monday morning snapshot
It is Monday morning. I sit at my kitchen table. The house is tidy but the table is a mess. My sewing machine is out and the table is strewn with pins, measuring tape, buttons, spools of thread. It is a happy chaos.
The kitchen door is open and the light streams in through the glass. There is a blue sky outside, a result not to be sniffed at, given the grey tendencies of the weather these past few days, or weeks. Here in London, the sunshine is a rarity and worshiped like a god.
I sip the last few mouthfuls of my now cold tea. I listen to a plane fly overhead, and I wonder where it has come from. I scratch my head and purse my lips a little. The day is upon me and I must decide my strategy.
a wee poem
Oh so many golden leaves
Like paper shifting endlessly
Swept around by autumn breeze and buzz
Glimmer in the morning dew
Auburn, purple, amber hue
Discarded by a tree they knew and loved
