Most days I would try to write a poem; it is a practice, as I suppose is meditation, or smiling, or watching the world go by
Sunday, 11 March 2012
Virginia
Folded over, folded in on your self
You reach out, with curled up tips
your tributaries; branches & firm centre line
settled deep from tip to toe
You take me to the harbour rails
let me step upon the boardwalk
All my summer was in the waiting
Only when the seasons change
do you turn into your full colour
Only when the seasons change
are you undone by my wild winds
You are ripped from the red white stalks
torn, you let me pull you into the breeze
You float, without waiting, to my floor
Dry sun, takes away our moisture
dry clear days take away our breath
until the day of gathering when we stroke
and caress; a private life in the public view
a poem from the collection Some Trickier Poems - Love with Conflicts - available as a kindle download or library item by clicking here