Poetry (words)

Emerald dreams. 


Could I be this lucky, this drop of life beneath the darkest pinhole sky. Look up and tell me of wealth, breathe in and expel the myths of fortunate kings. This capture and keep mentality how it drowns the bravest voice. 

This moment will pass too soon, but it lives long enough to be painted by this novice hand. How could I not be moved. Amongst this emerald dream I am the curious being, the outsider looking in. 

From a book of lines I captured time in the shade of morning’s forgiving light as dandelion clocks took flight. I planted thoughts beneath the ground and gave them room to exhale, that they might grow when I move on. 
What more could I possibly ask for,  here where the last blossoms fall like wishes from the lips of time. Short lived but irreplaceable, like a night in the woods. 

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Poetry (words)

Onwards 

Even after the dust settled the battle raged on relentlessly, sometimes it came in whispers, but it always came. I stayed too long and watched love turn into something I no longer recognised. At the back of my mind the “what ifs” still plague me, but they can’t sustain. 

Indecision has drained me dry, where inspiration once grew in abundance I now cling to the fresh shoots that offer another route. The spaces in my soul will always be a home for the shapes you painted in my life. 

Of all the things I wish you, happiness is at the forefront. That what’s ahead brings you peace of mind and a love for life. 

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Poetry (words)

Allure


Perfect silence the allure of isolation in nature’s hands. Alone in the half-light in dusks approach, my lungs filled with whispers for this familiar place. 

Everything that grows here has a beginning, a seed planted in the past. It’s canopy the solar cell feeding roots, filtered and stored. 

Even in decomposition life finds a way here, uprooted grandeur still stretched towards the light. A century of memories silently falling.

On the pages where worlds unfold lies a forgotten history. How those stories we love have a backdrop of the greatest wonder. 

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Poetry (words)

Bubble. 

It ended as it always would. Without protest or a will to continue. What couldn’t be changed still the core of all doubt. Not a desolate place, but empty of warmth. A door closed….and an echo of its closing the only recollection. 
It’s not enough. It’s the scraps being thrown to the grateful beast, barely alive, but kept close at hand by hunger alone. Survival and starvation at odds, motivational extremes. I can’t survive this, I can’t stay intact and remain in this bubble. 

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Poetry (words)

Sunday morning. 


Sometimes when the days are too full to catch my breath I long for Sunday morning. In the room scented by a fresh bouquet of hyacinth and freesias. 

My thoughts untangle here, without force, without having to try. The map for the day ahead unfolds before me, but I choose no particular route. 

Silence, the conductor of this symphony, this treasured time. Like a walk in the woods at dawn. Contentment remains at my side without the blinkers of promises from yesterdays past. 

I hope for the planet, that better days will come, that the cruelty and anger will somehow fade. I hope that mankind will see the simplicity of peace amongst the rubble where children once played.

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Poetry (words)

Scattered thoughts.

Sometimes it’s the scattered seeds that grow the stronger roots. Perhaps it’s in settling where they choose to be that they find strength. 

To plant a seed and see it grow is (I believe) as awe inspiring as any of the seven wonders. How with care and attention the soil thanks us with the sweetest of perfume, where insects dance on pollen filled buds. Survival of the species at war with our neglect. 

To lay in the shelter of the air that we breathe and not be humbled is a display of the ignorance that led us here. Step back and take a look how far we’ve come, balance that with the destruction it took to achieve our goals.

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Poetry (words)

Cherish or discard 


Moments of peace on the edge of chaos, will Spring ease this troubled mind. Can the depths of the journey that brought me here survive now the path has changed. I’ll find hope in the delicate beauty that through frozen ground still seeks the light. 

Is it faith in the unknown that entices our footsteps on, do we replace what fails and can that replacement ever be anything more than a temporary solution. Lessons are the seeds and we can cherish or discard, nurture or fail.

I am so deeply in love with these moments of reflection. Safe in the knowledge that they are infinitely at home in my heart until the storm abates and the oceans grow calm. 

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