Nightingale



 

 

source

She sings like a nightingale
Her voice soaring
the audience enraptured
Silent
Unmoving
as her notes ring out
rhapsodic

  a dreamworld

of musical beauty
her voice unique
in its purity

unmatched
by any other

she loses herself in the moment
unaware
alone on the stage

her notes pitch perfect
bring a  tear to the eye
and free the soul


Inspiration prompt - Nightingdale at Real Toads 

Broken

They break my heart

they always do

these callous men

that take and never give

Each time I weep and wail

throw my hands to the heavens

And vow

Never again

 

I find my heart

On my sleeve

Open and raw

Wounded

 

 Now in the autumn 

Of my years

I rejoice that the chance

will not come again

I am sufficient

Unto myself

No more my heart will suffer

Slings and arrows

I am whole

Not needing another

 to complete me

This is my way

I will surrender no more

To the whims and fancies

of love

I am a shattered window

of fragmented prisms

 

I am alone

 it was meant to be

At last

I 

Am

Me

Written for Poetry Jam http://poetryjaam.blogspot.co.uk/

Thorn

We called the child Thorn

A rose by another name

The cross he would have to bear

 

His jagged frame

a weapon

his enemies no equal

 

This crown of thorns

 would make him Strong

 his name would pierce the flesh

and the heart

of his oppressors

 

He will prick their conscience

Draw blood

And be thankful

for his Anglo Saxon forebears

 

Read it in the Runes

they speak the truth

 

 

Written for Sunday Scribblings 2  #Prompt 43 Thorn

Winters Chill

 

 

Snug under quilts

of feather and down

Eyes half closed half open

A dream

 part broken

 

 As clocks reverse

 and time stands still

 you wake

 to frost crazed panes

and icy breath

 

 Toes recoil and curl

feeling the frozen ground

beneath your stockinged feet

 

The camp fire fizzles

 and spits  blue flame

the coffee aroma lures you

out

  into the barren winter morn

brave as the first pioneer

 in a strange land

 

Goose pimpled legs and shivering heart

 cold as iron

 your cosy den a warm memory

calling you

to retreat

 with buttered toast

 and honey sweet

to break your fast

 

 

Written for Magpie Tales #243 - Tess provides the image, we the story

 

 

 



1930 Notebook ...

source

I have come
to catch your voice
Your constructed notes going out of the throat
With dry, mechanical gestures,
To catch the shaft
Although it is so straight and unbending,
Then, when I open my mouth,
The light will come in an unwavering line.
Then to catch night
Wading through her dark cave on ferocious wings

On, eagle mouthed,
I have come to pluck you,
And take away your exotic plumage,
Although your anger is not a slight thing,
Take you into my own place
Where the frost can never fall,
Nor the petals of any flower drop.

Dylan Thomas

autumn light

source

 

The garden is damp and shining with early morning dew

Bathed in sunlight

  through petals transparent

  throwing long shadows across the grass

Water droplets on purple ribbed cabbage

glisten

 a different kind of beauty

Whilst the bright sunshine-yellow stems of chard

light up and cheer the soul

 

Autumn is a time for seeking out the unexpected

 to catch the eye

as flowers fade and die

 

Shadows

 thrown against a fence

or

The slow changing of  leaves

 beautiful

in their dying colours

as

Tomatoes cling to their withered branches

Change is upon us

Step by step autumn arrives

 stealthily

snatching the last glories of summer

bite by bite

 

and

 

The last rose petals fall

 at a mere touch

 

A version of this originally posted on  Ramblings from Rosebank )

In Inceptum Finis Est - In the Beginning Is The End

 

 

 

MOTHER

 

Is that all I have been

 

No name to call my own

 

Not sister or daughter or wife

 

Who will remember

 

 

 

How quickly forgotten

 

In the blink of an eye

 

In Octu Oculi

 

 

 

The bole of a tree is my shelter

 

The earth worms my companions

 

Crack'ed bark will talk to me

 

I will listen

 

 

 

And when lichen viridian and moss soft green 

 

cover this marker

 

I will be consumed by nature

 

Turn full circle

 

Ashes to ashes dust to dust

 

 

 

My sum total

 

My being

 

My all

 

Lies beneath this cheapened stone

 

 

 

Unremarkable

 

 

 

In memoriam


Written for Magpie Tales #Mag242 - Tess provides the image, we the story

Mystic Moonlight

 source

Leaf edges illumined
frost rimed
Catching the moons glow
Haunted by shadow
That lurks beneath

 They glitter and shine
Rustle
As the wind passes through
in night time fury

Creatures scuttle and hide
Beneath its girdle
Shining bright

Homeward bound
To some dark den
Moss lined
and earthy

Ill met by moonlight
Branches creak and moan
No one can hear them
They stand alone

 

The Woman in the Mirror

I see myself
 

Four times removed

Through the looking glass

Click goes the shutter

Click

Click
 

Each a reflection

of my other self

Which one is real?
 

Am I

Who I think I am

Perceive myself to be

The woman in the mirror

Is she me?

Written for Magpie Tales #Mag 241 Tess provides the image, we, the story.
 

 

Escape

 

Run 

Without stop

Barbed wire barrier rips and tears

Breathing hard

Pounding heart

Prickling sweat

 

Old man young girl

 Eyes wide open - heart shut closed

Never

Never

Not ever

 

A life over

Before it has begun

No

I can't

I won't

 

Run

Without stop

The barbed wire holds

Enfolds

Scolds

 

I pray to some unknown deity

Hear me

The barbed wire rips and tears

Pull away

Break free

Escape its metallic embrace

 

No old man no young girl

Just freedom

Run

Run

Run

 

Before it's too late

 

 

Written for Magpie Tales #240. Image provided by Tess Kincaid. She provides the image. We, the story.