Quietly rocks the garden swing, swaying in time with the autumn breeze. My eyes fixate on the seat, clutching to the chains, longing to see delicate fingers wrap around them once again.
The porch door clatters as the cat shoots through the hall, stealing my attention. As my eyes wander back to the garden swing, I see it lift up with a gust of wind, as if a child had leapt from it, up into the air, grasping for freedom.
Footsteps. Sodden footprints and bits of tarnished leaf are scattered through the kitchen, leading to the lounge. I follow the trail, forever hoping it will lead to you. I miss you so much that my heartache echoes into my every thought.
Tag: grief
Iceberg’s Tip Décima
The problem with a slow dance is,
It’s flawless – besides when it’s not.
Time heals, forgiveness, forgot.
The dilemma with a trance is,
Giving out infinite chances.
March down a disappointing track,
Waiting for your disguise to crack.
Each final straw, each iceberg’s tip,
Expectations finally slip,
And now there is no waltzing back.
Image credit: pixabay.com
In response to Ronovan Writes’ Décima Challenge found here
Mood Haiku Sequence
Painting lines on lines,
Masking feelings with colours,
Burying lost strokes.
Carefully painting,
With a cold, stormy pallet.
Comforting blanket.
Moody skies console,
Beautiful blue smudged with grey.
Uplifting sadness.
In response to dVerse’s Haiku Sequence prompt found here
Shrinking Décima
Poems are best composed when there’s
No words to capture all your cares.
When there’s no light or ray of hope,
When heading down a downward slope.
That’s when words are the coastguard’s flares,
The scatter of birds, March’s snow,
The bowler’s throw, the whistler’s blow.
Alarm bells cry final warnings,
In dark nights, but darker mornings.
Why do we have to shrink to grow?
In response to Ronovan Writes’ Décima Challenge #16 found here
Little Dreams, Strong Will
Back when I was little,
Unworthy and insignificant,
I was a drained and lazy lizard,
With dreams, so magnificent.
My dreams of a eutopia,
Became so real and recurrent.
Though they brought little euphoria;
I was trapped by a sea serpent.
Old leather boots struck terror,
Deep within my shielded heart.
Potpourri reminded me of home,
When my world was torn apart.
My escape from him was easy,
Once I climbed over self-blame.
Now I don’t count every penny,
Nor lower my head in shame.
I’m making myself a life I love,
Where I won’t feel homesick.
I’m yellow with contentment,
Like the earthy turmeric.
In response to the Paint Chip Poetry Prompt Challenge #30 found here
A poem for anyone who is made to feel small, to give them hope for a brighter future.
Your Hinterland
When I think of you, I find myself looking towards the sky. I wonder if you are looking down at me. Watching from above, with a pair of angelic wings. I believe that you are seeing heights only one stairway has ever led to.
I would prefer it if you were closer though. Thriving in flourishing meadows, behind the hills. I dream of watching you dance, as the playful breeze rattles the leaves of the oak trees. Just beyond the view from my window; your own hinterland.
Image credit: pixabay.com
In response to Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt found here
Empty Nest Décima
Hear the squawking of mother bird,
Chased by the devilish kittens,
Captured in their furry mittens.
Ears pricked. The silence was stirred,
But her pleading was quickly slurred.
Bringing emptiness to mourning.
Her baby bird awoke, yawning,
And longing for the feathered quilt,
Mother’s wings in the nest she built.
The baby sensed a shift dawning.
Image credit: pixabay.com
In response to Ronovan Writes’ Décima Challenge #14 found here
Maps Haiku
Why can’t I find you-
When my fingers can trace roads,
Around the planet.
Image credit: pixabay.com
In response to Ronovan Writes’ Haiku Challenge #314 found here
Driftwood
Each wave of blue ribbon,
Washes upon the sand,
Bringing driftwood;
Memories clouding my mind, and
Offering as much solace as red clay,
From rusted rocks in mud.
A fossil from the past, best forgotten.
I turned my back on the deep dark wood,
In search of the blazing sun.
Grassland was all I found,
Drenched in my tears.
Though I’m thankful for the sound,
Of breaking waves.
I’m grateful for the colour,
Of sun rises.
I hope I live to see another.
Image credit: pixabay.com
In response to the Paint Chip Poetry Prompt Challenge #28 found here
Disorganised, yet appropriate.
Tough Days Ahead Décima
A heavy heart plated with lead.
When bad days turn to lousy weeks.
When sleeves wipe across sodden cheeks,
You don’t know how to help, instead,
Belittle me to get ahead.
You look down at me, this is true.
Uncultivated fields grew,
The hierarchy’s nourishment.
With too little encouragement,
The days are tough to saunter through.
In response to Ronovan Writes’ Décima Challenge #13 found here
