Butterflies swarm,
Caught up in a light breeze,
Wings on wings pounding,
Rainbow waterfall of tiny legs,
Antennae clicking softly.
Gently pluck the nectar,
From apple blossoms,
And marigolds,
Dancing in the sun.
Followed out in dizzy patterns,
Against a smooth face,
Proud creatures waving flags,
To sound a victory drum,
In time to music,
I can rarely hear.
Spread your wings to fly,
White clouds pasted,
On sheets of glass-blue.
Why don’t you come to find me,
Amidst the radiant skies,
Meet me in the garden,
I’m with the butterflies.

When the sun goes down,
And the moon emerges,
From it’s hollow in the sky,
Like a sleepy eye,
It yawns at me,
And I yawn back.
In the morning,
He’s disappeared,
Where? I do not know.
For again I have not stayed awake,
To keep watch.
He is never home,
In time,
To see a sunrise.
But he is always back,
In time,
To laugh with the stars.
He will not tell his secret.
Where he’s been,
On a journey,
Every night.
Across the world perhaps,
Where someone else,
Wonders too,
Where he’s been all day.



Loneliness is,
The sound of a feather that dropped from a wing,
Like a wisp of smoke out of thin air,
On the days that the phone doesn’t ring.
A water mark at the top of the fridge,
A crack in the wall where there shouldn’t have been,
This is what loneliness is to me.
The kind of thing that we never see,
On the busy days when the car won’t start,
Or the dishes pile up in the sink.
Loneliness seems to slip away,
To return when there’s time to think.
It isn’t the cries or the sounds in the night,
It isn’t the fear when the neighbours fight,
But the creak that remains in stair number five,
And the zap that you get when you turn on the light,
This is what loneliness is to me.
A small circumstance,
An unnoticed thing,
That emerges on days when the phone doesn’t ring.

The Storm

Yellow umbrella,
Like a giant daffodil,
As red boots flash,
And splash,
Through endless puddles of rain.
And she is not afraid,
Of the thunderclouds that stand up,
To give loud applause on the horizon.
She picks up the pace,
Tailing the wind,
With her umbrella sun searching,
Through the watercolour landscape.
The lightning snaps playfully,
As it flees from the darkness,
Illuminating the sky.
In a game of chase,
Or hide and go seek,
She is trying to catch,
The storm.



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