My Words, My World

First drafts – A few pages in the large wilderness of the world of writing

Archive for the tag “sun”

Don’t talk to me

Don’t talk to me about the weather
when I can see and feel the sun,
the rain, the snow and the frost.
We have weathermen for that, anyway.
 
Don’t talk to me about your politics
when I have ears and hear the bullshit,
the lies, the promises; mostly broken.
We have newspapers for that, anyway.
 
Don’t talk to me about love
and how they say it is blind.  It isn’t.
We jump in with eyes wide open.
We have hearts for that, anyway.
 
Don’t talk to me about death
when it’s the guaranteed end of everyone.
I know I can only be at peace with myself.
We have priests and undertakers for that, anyway.

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Always moving

The kid was snorkelling and the sun was shining. The sun was shining on an azure sea, shining so that the tops of waves looked like the wings of a million seagulls so white it hurt the eyes.

The wind was blowing, keeping the temperature down to STILL TOO HOT, and still the orange tip of the snorkel tube drifted along, the face it connected to seeing nothing but sand.

Nothing under there but sand but still the snorkelling went on and the sun kept shining, the wind kept blowing and a million seagulls’ wings so white it hurt the eyes kept moving; always moving.

Balcony

Balcony

The cat, bird stalking,

early morning dog walking,

the sun rises over the eastern hill

behind the fir trees.

Spring morning chill

meets

spring sun warmth.

It is still early.

The plants, freshly watered,

drip and gleam in the light.

Geraniums, pink and red

and rosemary lifts her violet head,

the lavender flowers, purple

while bees flit, feeling Provençal.

Sarracenia, the fly catcher, lies

and dreams of catching flies.

Dawn

The brevity
of morning’s clarity
Crystal-crusted peaks
standing sentinel

A sheer-sided cliff
black against blue
hides the sky above me
Its sides thick
with winter’s skeletons
stalking stick shadows,
stark
against night’s incandescence
which chases up the sun

A once waterfall
in winter suspension
and, like us all,
awaits the sun.

Goodbye, my sun

As the leaves burn brown
and rage in a riot of red
The low, winter light losing colour
looking tired and stretched
The sun’s early rising all but forgotten
another life, another time

The soltice shroud of darkness covers all
and the frost fingers;
hard and cold
grip the earth
And its frigid breath
bites the air

As the year ends in a flurry of colour

As the year ends in a flurry of colour

The rain; incessant

The counter-argument for global warming as central Europe shows absolutely no sign of becoming a desert just yet.  We’ve had rain since May; I’m sure I never experienced a summer like this in England…

***

The rain; incessant
Incandescent, the lightning
Incisions in the dark
Scalpel thin and scalpel clean

The rain; incessant
Torrential, never ending
Chinese water torture
For the soul: where is the sun?

The rain; incessant
Artillery-like thunder
Huge calibre backdrop
As I sit, willing the sun

Happy place

Puerto La Savina is a happy place
in the early morning.
It’s not a miserable place filled
with the miserable grey shouts
and whistles of a city port.

It thrums; it thrums with
sound of boat engines.
It is happy,
basking in the sun.

Brooms sweep the pavement
and early morning walkers walk.
A thicket of masts wave
with the sigh of the sea.
It is a happy place.

Once green world memory

Where be now the wind
that once blew?
Around the compass, all around;
south, east, west and north true.
Flag flutter memory
just choking on dust.

Where are you now rain,
that once fell?
Down from the heavens, drenching me;
downpour, shower, drizzle.
Umbrella memory
doesn’t dampen dust

You frost, cold and white,
that once lay.
Covering the fields, chilling me;
your kiss hard underfoot.
Winter boot memory
now walking in dust

And you the snow, you
fall no more?
Stinging my face, red cold my nose;
freezing, numbing my hands.
Sheepskin glove memory,
tracing in the dust.

From you the sun, where
can I hide?
From your lofty perch, glaring;
shrivelling, withering.
Once green world memory,
now turning to dust.

 

 

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