Be all the blue you don’t want to see in the sky
That bitter note of sunshine rules the skies
Blow up the water tank the roos don’t mind the bangs
Leave the pieces laying on the dust
Silky dust wanting water and somehow I don’t care
Under the verandah the clouds are gathering
Could this be the end of all we’re hearing now
Or is this the only thing keeping us sane.
All I see of me is my shadow on the wall,
Walking down the hall thudding on worn carpet again.
Everything I write comes back to the word drought. It’s not the worst word once you get to know it.
My mum was struck by lightning but I was never scared of storms,
Although everybody seems to love the breeze that summer warms.
I always had a dream, that I would learn to fly,
With thunder above my shoulder and lightning in the sky.
I beg the storm to take me up into the gold and grey,
The wind sings to me so sweetly, till I start to turn away.
I shall walk home through the olive groves and weep, for I’m down here,
While above thunder and lightning dance, there’s not a chance that they can hear.
Fun fact: my mum really was struck by lightning! Indirectly of course, which is why she survived, with a pretty cool story!
Also, summer or winter? In this poem I seem to be leaning towards winter but in actuality I love summer best. Which are you?
I play my cat like a guitar, just to hear him purr.
Is a one line poem a thing? Well it is now because I’m going to to sleep before I can finish this poem! I’ve an idea, see if you can finish it in the comments below! Wow, I’m such a lazy poet! 😂
The icecream man came lolloping, over the bulk of the hill,
Caramels, chocolates, and bunches of peppermint twill,
Are sticky and then something like, golden sunshine and sand,
I asked him for impossible icecream, and he put it in my hand.
What’s your impossible icecream?
I found this in a box of scraps of paper that I keep, it was printed out, I believe I wrote it in primary, I’m not sure. Also not sure if it was just a random thought stream or a concrete idea, but I thought it’s pretty cool. Somewhat ridiculous. It’s all the same. 😉
If I had a world of my own, there would be no unicorns. The sun would be smaller than a wonderful star and everyone would fly on the backs of swallows. The caretakers name would be Gary and he would walk slowly through the dark blue Street singing Scottish songs, and the whole world would be Irish. The corner store would sell lollipops in a rainbow whirl and the children would stare longingly as their nurses shepherd them along on the other side of the street. the nurses would b dressed in bright pink, the children would be dressed in marbled grey and purple with grey ties and socks, and green shoes. Gary would be dressed in overalls and cary ad broom and a bucket of sops.
Everyday new flowers will bloom, and no flower will ever die until the caretaker pulls them out. Gary is fond of the flowers and only pulls out the rude ones when he has to, so the flowers are everywhere, over banisters and awnings and sidewalls and roofs and some just cascade out of thin air. if you stand still for long enough, flowers grow in your hair, and twine themselves lovingly around your neck.
In the sweet sunrise, amethysts fall from the sky, so we would wear cotton wool on their heads to catch the precious jewels. Then at night we heat them up with red fire and cook the fish that we have caught on them and then, as we lay around the fire, we devour the soft, tender, juicy fish. The next morning the amethysts will be a pale chalky pink and we pick them up and lay them under the nest of the green dawn bird. She feeds on them and when she lays her eggs they are made of transparent pink purple crystal.
During the day the men wander down through the streets to the fresh sparkling sea with their nets dragging behind them. They go to catch the fish for the night time meal. when they have caught three fat ones each, they drag the nets back o the shoe and loll on the warm rocks till the whale of the sunset rises in the deep.
The women also flock down to the sea, with their garments of purple ad red and green and blue to cleanse them in the sand. The children have all escaped from their nursemaids, and have thrown off their ties. They are a raggletaggle bunch, flowers in their hair and lollipops in their hands, but none of them have ever looked happier. Gary is keeping watch, and keeping the glassy sand clear.
Then all, except Gary, will swim in the sea, till the last fish is caught, singing the exultant hunting song triumphant with bold red flags.
Yes, it’s not perfect, I feel the need to completely rework it, but I’ve left it mostly how it was when I first wrote it. The tense does switch dramatically , but who cares? Do you? I don’t! Not today anyway, mostly because it’s raining! 😂😁