The sky is coconut ice. A robin bursts with song, Sharp and vortexed. How does he not freeze? Not tumble through the stiff bareness of the elder, Fragile feathers catching at twiggy spurs – A small ball of puffed air and folly, While I mince on the shined sandstone Sprinkling a safe salty path.
Dessicated, rather than dazzled. We are almost Anaesthetised by the unrelenting sun, Zigzagging through the blinds, with the Zeal of a missile, its burn Licking the air and hissing in our heads. Indifferent to our moans and pleads, ‘No doubt,’ it boasts, ’if I left you would soon Grizzle until my enigmatic return.’
New beginnings - like a swirl of whipped cream,
wrapped in a cone of crisp puff pastry -
beckon with a tasty promise
of something longed for and now
it lies within your grasp,
as your hand hovers
over the prize,
you hope it's
Linking this Reversed Etheree to The Skeptic's Kaddish and David's first W3 prompt to write a poem in response to his verse that includes the word 'hope' (https://skepticskaddish.com/2022/05/04/w3-prompt-1-weave-written-weekly/).
Through the diamond leading on my windows, past the bare hazel hedge, the mossy roof of my neighbour’s house, the thick gathering arms of a dormant oak, I see a steep ridge of green. In today’s uncertain spring light it is a mucky shade, like the colour on a child’s palette when black, and blue and yellow have slopped together. I have walked up onto that ridge, have felt my heart pound disconcertingly hard, my leg muscles complain, my body sweat. And when I reached the top, I was rewarded with the most wonderful view. All the way back to where I sit now, looking up.Soon the ridge will be hidden from my window view by new growth and colours. But I know it will be waiting to show itself again, once the seasons are spent.
Hills hold memories Life sleeps and wakes in their arms Spring brushes softly.
I have just had a strange comment link to my latest post from a blog called ‘entertainment9ja.com.ng’ which seems to have copied part of my post onto their site, but with no reference to me. Not sure what is going on, so I have deleted the comment link. I can see the site address is in Nigeria, so I imagine it is a scam of some sort.
Anyway, just wondered if anyone else has had a similar experience, or advise as to any further action I should take?
Can you smell that? Earth’s firedamp lingering. We need more than flames, more than metal sieves, to ward off danger. Old Humphry swung his lamp in mindless times, when men were cheap and seams were rich with black.
Can you hear that? Diminished songs of life. Yellow feathers float silent as unsung nursery rhymes, and coils of ropes no longer skipped or jumped. The playground’s empty, save for slurried stacks.
Can you see that? Where black stones mark the spot? Illumination seems a pointless thing when we close our eyes. But when the flame expires and all is dark, What then, my world, will ever bring you back?
Linking this to The Sunday Blog Spot and today’s Sunday Muse photo prompt. ( http://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/). Tried an extension of a duodora and went for three verses.
Clouds are not really white, or grey, or pink – they are a mix of all the light put into them, (I read somewhere).
I saw a cloud above the bay, a dazzling iridescence of such brightness it hurt my eyes to look for long.
I wondered, then, if you were up there, (the random ’there’ where we put all our loved ones), because surely only pure light would mark your place.
Perhaps you looked down, at that moment, and saw your family, and recognised us despite the years
and shone your message, onto the pummelled pewter sheet before us and perhaps you said
look up, at this shining cloud, and know that I know I was loved and I would say
how long have I waited for that message? Three score years is less than a raindrop in an ocean of loss.
An amble around West Bay the other day with my eldest son and husband found us looking at a striking cloud, shining over the sea. With the sun behind it the cloud was quite dazzling, as was the reflected light on the water below.