Watercolour-blue, paper carded sky, marked on crisp white labels, starry seeds. Black wells of pooling ink,
The waiting crocodiles yawn, illuminated in cool moonlight. Silk strands curling off corn heads writher till white herons set off
Across the coarse brown sand.
He’s standing in their yard, pine tree green.
His eyes are buried in wrinkles,
Browned and egg head bald.
Straight and very gently tired, corduroy black
Coat, vest, grey shirt, over
Old fashioned suit pants. His whole life is settled here,
Floating down, sloshing in a puddle of time.
Butcher turned baker, he knew the whole town.
His family tragedy, cracked the earth he stood on
Into fissures of volcano soil.
The cracked hearts scarred black
But the old wounds have been covered by new grass for many a year.
Now his old eyes shade kindly when he speaks.
They put his wife in hospital nine months ago,
Four hours every day he slides her way.
He comes out every morning holding the hours precious,
Wrapped in old newspaper,
Carried, breaking eggshells, inside thick and yellow, is all their time.
If he lays them carefully on the faded carpet
Every day when he gets back,
Perhaps they will hold together
A few months more.
The steam engine huge events that have rolled over their puny puddles
Push the water out in heaving waves.
But every time the same water trickles back into the same hollows.
We’ve been through it before, he says.
It’s the new movers in that undo them
Oil to the old water, the puddle thins.
When the old-timers all turn to dust,
Their newspaper lining disintegrated, sodden, gone,
The old place will keep its wheels turning,
With one or two less cogs.
For now the screeching cockatoo and the dank dark pine trees will bear him up
And tomorrow he will see his wife again.
Another one for the metaphor challenge from dVerse! I wasn’t going to, but no one can argue that there isn’t a metaphor here somewhere. I mean if you look really closely. It’s there. Perhaps an extended metaphor even. Somewhere. At this moment metaphor has ceased to look like a real word to me. Metaphor metaphor metaphor. Ok.
Also here’s my other metaphor thing.
The painter philosophical,
Tubby fleeced and rovers boots,
Sermonising, gesturing, he’s a preacher,
Half a Russian dancer,
Half wry smiles and shrugs.
Back to work I guess.
A metaphor challenge today from dVerse. I think I still have a lot to learn about metaphors. 😊
Also this is based on an honest-to-goodness real person I met today, who probably never woke up this morning thinking he would be made into a poem by evening and probably will never know that he was.
The knocking intensifies, urgent and soft.
Rain is a stranger,
drumming the door.
But my fingers that reach for the door knob
Are covered in soft-silk
dust, and dry gum leaves.
And I know you will wash them away.
Your green coat don’t fit
The bones of the valley,
Grey wash watercolour soddens the sky.
I want long summers
To hang washing in,
Give me my sunshine, give me my dry.
There’s never a break
In the clouds or lush grass,
Dark dreamy paddocks sigh in your reign
Catching my pockets,
Drenching my sheep,
And filling the beds when the river’s asleep.
I know I craved water,
I didn’t know what it meant,
Forfeit gold living, put your feet in the mud.
But glance t’wards
the mottled dark storm
Life symphony, the gentle drum joins the band,
Child’s play-dust gone,
It’s a kind bargain
Rain is a gentle monarch over the land
Lovely rain prompt from dVerse, mine is late! Hope you enjoy 😊
I was born free; no body owns me
I can sleep on the sand
Following summer into the north
I can cloud drift
To rule the horizon
But I come back to
Beach scented oceans
Again. Because clouds
are still trapped by the earth.
Prompt from dVerse, a Quadrille using the prompt “free” and exactly 44 words. Mines a bit late!
Also drew a bit of inspiration from this corny song from the old Pippi Longstocking movie! https://youtu.be/a7m4vPcfeOE
His granddaughter’s hair is long,
While he’s been going bald for years.
They’re sitting, shoulders brushing,
Attention caught ahead.
She leans over to whisper, he bends his ear in,
And when she moves back
About ten long hairs catch on his arm,
Linking them across ten centimetres of space.