Poem Category: All

Swan lake

the line of cygnets

in a mother‘s wake.

Being spring

the scarf on the mountain

returns to the sea.

Spring clean

the rag‘s bag dragged

from room to room.

Carved heart still there…

the hollow sounds

from the tree‘s core

In sleep

the far barking dogs

that won‘t.

Sleep that won‘t

listening to the roof

creak with wind.

Flame trees

igniting autumn‘s need

to rake and burn.

Plumber‘s soil

left on the lawn

pecked by sparrows

Huddled under a tree …

after the lightning

our long walk home.

In the fish pond

no moon to float

the moth‘s flutter.