Wednesday, 23 January 2019

While Reading Mary Oliver

Far from the forest  
sat a bench 
where I ate my lunch; 
the January sun was delicious;  
a dead woman spoke to me 
from pages gilded with foxes  
and ebullient leaves; 
her body lies below the ground 
upon which she danced 
with Mozart, swans and larks; 
now her brittle fingers 
feed flamboyant trees 
and necessary sparrows;  
“Sing,” she said to me 

Tuesday, 1 January 2019

In Nature, I Missed You

In nature, I missed you 
by the waterfall, 
under the sunset, 
on the mountain peak 
I could not turn to you  
and speak 
you were not there 

alone and wistful  
as the mist  
gave birth to rainbows 
and birds told 
of carefree joys  
I clearly could not  
I plodded aimlessly 
blinded to  
the other One  
who whispered out 
the name I longed to hear - 
and 'treasure of Mine' 

starlight and moon glow 
shone in my darkened state 
I reached out 
with emptiness  
to grasp  
Your fingerprints  
within Your waiting hand           

What Do You Think of That?

In the airport was a piece of luggage, unattended 
In the luggage, an inspector apprehended  
A package that contained a book 
He peered inside and took a look 
In the book there was a story on a page 
In the story was a mountain 
In the mountain was a cave 
In the cave there was an elephant 
And he was very brave 
He had escaped from the zoo  
Where the people were quite crazed 
On the elephant was a saddle 
In the pocket on the side  
Was a pair of binoculars 
 Guess what you could see inside? 
A country with a province 
And a city with a street 
On the street there was a building  
Reaching over twenty feet 
And in that building, there were people  
Milling all around  
Wondering what’s inside that luggage  
Left unattended on the ground 
Here comes an inspector  
With a magnifying glass 
In anticipation,  
The people oohed and gasped  
Some thought any minute  
The luggage might explode 
And with possibilities  
It could overflow  
Each one had ideas  
Swirling beneath their hats 
An elephant, a city 
What do you think of that?   


Her strong shoulders  
reveal a memory, 
indelibly inscribed; 
her eyes, 
in the telling,  
her hair flows silvery, 
like shimmering waves 
on crystal seas; 
vivacity glides 
through her sinewy veins 
in her own skin   

In reflective times, 
her legs curl beneath her 
as she wistfully writes  
of jellies and whales 
surrounding her, 
kissing her emerald fin