Flight

baby grebe

Flesh of my flesh, in essence your own;

I nurtured and loved what God gave on loan;

Our time in the water has quickly slipped by;

I gave you your wings – child, take to the sky.

Birth of a Bouquet

Royal Lace Lily

 

Purity meets Grace

Romance blossoms overnight

Innocence is born

**************

In honour of our world’s precious children 

Listening

frostyashtrees

 

Soft and still, the silent snow

Speaks in icy syllables –

Rosy cheeks and tingling toes,

Hibernating miracles,

Children carving angel’s wings,

Jingling sleigh-bells, frozen breath;

Holidays and lights on strings,

Life in temporary death.

 

 

Disaster DIY

broken home

 

It’s not broken.

Just needs a coat of paint

and some appliance

up-grades.

Children raised here

will not grow

crooked backs or

necks or

morals or

hearts. Give them

extra birthday presents

and they’ll be fine

breathing in the dust

of our broken dreams

and bearing the

weight

of our renovations.

Let Nature Speak

keyboardfrog.jpg

 

Let Nature speak –

in syllables untypable,

nuances not uttered in

words so much as living

letters which etch life into the

living. Let Nature

write –  phrases

one breeze-breadth

long, one sunset soliloquy

wide, one pollen-laced

paragraph high.

She prints her poem

onto recycled papyrus,

onto hearts grown green –

who will read it to our

children? Who will

translate her manuscript

without editing out her soul?

Emptied

caraganapod.jpg

Emptied,

she waits

for her children

to drop by,

call,

bring heaps of dirty laundry,

anything.

Emptied,

she waits,

silent heart

shrivelling.

Little does she know

that when her progeny

dropped from her grasp,

one day

the sun would shine

and seed would spawn

and green grandchildren

would spring up

to fill her quiver

full.