See the new moon up-slip
and flare its vicious whips of light
across the back of night.
The moon bears no delight, but brings
dull rays of hurts and stings
made yesterday. It sings cold songs
old songs that don’t belong
if we are to move on and make
a fresh and novel take
in the lake while baking a cake.
To hear this poem being read click HERE!
Apologies for poor audio – broken mic.
(Dear everyone – this poem was posted way back but got accidentally deleted – so I’m just fixing things up, and I don’t know how to tell WP that it’s not new!)
Sea waves! Kinaesthetic
Masterpiece! The earth’s trick to shine
Hefty stones into fine
Marble and, over time, transform
Dull rock. Beauty is born
Not in fierce forceful storms but slow,
Quiet, gentle to and fro,
Wave on wave, stop and go, hard grit.
Children ever question,
Perpetual in their din and quest
To know. They prod and pest.
Their parents never rest at all;
But as the breakers fall
On stony shores to maul and grind,
Mum turns into diamond,
And Dad wave-worn, refined forged iron.
