Not There Yet.

long-road-007 White lines hurtle past
Someone’s waste caught by the bush
Dead land dotted with tree skeletons
Not there yet.
Black lines on the pale sky
Birds sit like musical notes
To play to their own tune.
Not there yet.
Crosses and flowers show
Someone else’s grief
And sadness for what was,
Not there yet.

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The Kiss

kiss

The first kiss, sweet and soft,
To taste each other and find our way.
Yielding lips and tongue,fuel our passion.
Pull apart to breathe you in,
Gaze upon your craggy face.
Touch the lines, with my finger,
Push aside the strand of hair.
Meet my lips, our ardour done.

The Photograph

eye

Elated, joyous smile crossed his face,
Click.
Admires his new fiancé.
Click
Wistful, I spy behind the lense.
There was no one to match her
Click
Her eyes darted about to rest on him.
Click
His mouth receives her kiss.
Click, click,
Her smile eases through red lips,
To whisper only to him.
Click.
Cut the cake, the speech is long.
Click
Drum beats, dance as one
Click
The night is gone and
So are they.

The Shed

P1170011Wade through piles of crackling brown leaves underfoot,
Dusty cracks of sunlight peek through warped tiles.
The broken window, frames a craggy brown trunk,
Green leaves drop its greetings.
Thin twine weaves waving arms alongside peeling paint.
Dried yellow stains drip down the once clean walls,
Signalling its furry owner’s home,
Smells of death and life and petrol fume.
A muffled movement above alerts an urgency
To touch a dusty old box, lift it high,
Hook the web of a black hairy, spider who scurries away.
The box returned to its spot on a soggy leafed floor where,
A road of ants escape toward the open door.
Remnants of a small animal lies in the corner,
Amongst the boxes, paint tins and tools standing to attention.
A truck gurgles a gearchange; children squeal nearby.
Desperately clutch the web from misbehaving frizzy curls,
Nostrils flare from the waft of a pungent smell.
Try to hasten forward, yet thwarted by the junk of things past.
But the shuffle above galvanises a resolve
To forget the dirt and dust encased on skin.
A bird flies in and settles in its nest on the ladder,
Her smugness complete and comfortable.
Eyes meet, its message unmistaken
To submit to a relief of defeat,
And the beckon of procrastination.