"Trees are poems the earth writes upon the sky,
We fell them down and turn them into paper,
That we may record our emptiness."
Khalil Gibran

Sunday, August 20, 2017


Brown Hooded Kingfisher

Some days, the best I can hope for is a simple brew
sipped from a rose-patterned cup
in a sunny kitchen
with a dog panting nearby
fresh from rolling on the grass
dusty but sweet-smelling
and the flash of a kingfisher through the window
one that perched long enough for me to tell him,
“Oh, you beauty” before he flew away.


For Micro Poetry - Uncomplicated Things in the Imaginary Garden.

Saturday, August 12, 2017

You -

There are no good-byes for my dog who has died,
and we don't now and never did lie to each other.
Pablo Neruda

2010 ~ 2017

They gave me your ashes
and I did not understand how this could be
when I had seen your shadow in the morning –
it was you –
you followed me from my room
you, who was always more darkness than light
snipped from the ink of night
but always so warm to the touch –
and now, I recall, that this morning I put out my hand
but you slipped through my fingers and were gone.
The ashes were heavier than I expected
and whatever they are, they are not you.


Izy Gruye encourages us to Write Unseen in The Imaginary Garden this week.

Sunday, August 6, 2017

On Sorrow

Emotion, Sadness ~ ErtéFair Use

I grow older
ghosts accumulate
one now waits for me at the back door
which wasn’t there before

My wound won’t heal
it oozes and sulks
having taken on a life of its own
which is not my concern

I court sorrow
like an old lover returned
from journeying
and not someone I ever missed


Flash 55 PLUS! in the Imaginary Garden.

Saturday, August 5, 2017

On The Wing - A Rubaiyat

Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring
The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To fly—and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing
The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

Look up! A new heaven beckons the eye:
The cage has sprung open and wings defy
The simple cruelty of mortal men;
Wings were meant for climbing the stair of sky.

“The world is a narrow place” – says the priest
Poet replies – “Ev’ry flower is a feast!”
A single golden iris can confer
The granule of joy which is ever-sweet.

No more contentment than this could I seek
Than to find a grassy pillow for my cheek:
Sink to slumber in pomegranate’s shade
As barbet digs for gems with eager beak.

Or when the dusk sifts light from dark, to hear
The yellow song of the oriole – clear
It calls me from my travail – shall I cry
Today for tomorrow’s unadorned fear?


In my early teens, my grandmother gave me an antique copy of The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, translated by Edward Fitzgerald, bound in a burnt sienna suede and decorated with colour plates. It would be hard to say how many times I lost myself in the mediaeval world of Arabia, but certainly it left a lasting impression.
The beautiful fabrics displayed in the prompt Artistic Impressions with Margaret, as well as Margaret's collaborative poem, written with Gillena Cox, Of Nymphs & Gods inspired me to create a mini rubaiyat of my own.

For those unfamiliar with the birds of a South African garden:
Black Collared Barbet
Black-Headed Golden Oriole

I would also like to thank Carl Sharpe for featuring my poem, The Trees Held Their Silence with an audio readingon VerseWrights this weekend.