Hidden ships sail stormy seas,
Sway to the swell of the ocean breeze.
A rustling tide that ebbs & flows,
Where rustic music roars and blows.
Heads aloft in sacred trance,
Arms held high in spirit dance,
A comradeship of drunken song,
Ancestral crowds, where all belong.
Raise downcast eyes to the sobbing skies,
To the swirling hues of grey.
An outstretched palm unfurls,
releasing rivers; wild, at play.
There are no bounds to the pounding sounds,
From the waterfalls of wrath.
To splash in puddles, nonchalant,
Along the winding path.
Who has the job of painting the sky,
Who owns the ladders to reach up so high,
Who knows which colourful palletes delight,
Perpetual artwork designed to excite!
A fracture appears at the breaking of dawn,
A slither of pink cracks; the new day is born.
A blank canvas waits for the master’s sleight hand,
He lovingly tends all the colours he’s planned.
Forget-me-not, when the light goes out,
Forget-me-not, when you’re full of doubt,
I’ll walk behind your shadowed path,
I’ll guide you through the aftermath.
Forget-me-not, when the skies are blue,
Forget-me-not, I’ll be close to you,
You maybe lost, but my heart’s still true,
I feel only love, when I think of you.
Oh bells of blue, who rings for you?
It’s time to take your toll!
I listen carefully everyday,
Sat on my grassy knoll.
I see the willows bow and wave,
I hear leaves tittle tattle,
I catch the naughty nettles giggle,
The ants and bugs at battle.
A melody of random notes forming a symphony,
playing out its own wonderful concerto.
A lullaby rocking you to sleep.
A gentle lilt; tamed slowly, flowing like a river.
Then a brass band; flung crudely and wildly on a tidal wave,
that crashes and burns on the shore.
Each movement is deliciously different.
Each dancing note has its own exhilarating shrill,
Or its own muted tone of calm and serenity.
I sat upon this little step
To contemplate and think.
It felt so peaceful in the shade,
I stole me forty winks!
I dreamed I floated in midair,
Towards the highest bough.
I thought I’d climb steps to the sky,
If my dreamscape would allow.
A fading flower weeps fragility and grace,
A delicate beauty beholding its face,
Each shrivelling petal gets wrinkled and worn,
Exhausted, world weary, it’s weathered and torn.
Their once clear complexion, plumped up and pert,
Has a soft irridescence, a look of feint hurt.
They haven’t the strength to turn round to the light,
Hanging their heads, they long for goodnight.
Look! It’s the king of the jungle!
The strongest & noblest of beasts,
Look at his yellow coat shimmer,
The pride; roaming North, South, West, and East.
Look! It’s the stubborn survivor;
The monarch who wears a gold crown.
The first friend in Spring to the insects & bees,
Bright yellow, in country, and town.
There once were three sisters,
Three sisters, yes, three!
Their lives, fun and blissful,
Delightful, carefree.
Each day they would dance,
They would prance in the wood,
The wild joy of innocence,
Of charming childhood.
