Remembering the Jacaranda
A Purple carpet, wet dew drops on the lawn.
A Purple ceiling, flowers on a clear blue sky.
--
A doona and pillow, pushed in front,
a book firmly clasped between dry lips.
--
A climb, through the soft morning air, already bright.
Smooth bark and boughs that do not break.
Tiny spiders that do not fright.
--
A secure perch found,
A fall into another world,
onto pages speckled with sunlight.
--
I'm someone else, somewhere else.
--
Mornng voices hum below,
coffee brews,
my brother cries,
my mother's shrill,
To dads deep counter,
--
the day scowl begins
--
Time marks the same places in the usual spaces,
tick tock breakfast,
showers,
tick tock shoes
and lunches.
--
Tick tock.. tick.
--
the rhythm breaks
--
Two toned laughter
drifts up and winds around in a hazy glow,
and tugs at dangling bare feet
--
Bitter habits are put aside
--
Down I slip and slither into steady arms.
Not quite ready to leave my leafy hide,
not quite ready to leave The Secret Garden.
Yet Thankful for the morning reprieve.
--
A silent kiss and goodbye.
Goodbye purple carpet, blue sky
Green tickle me leaves.
--
It's time to grow up
And head inside.
YOU ARE READING
Pocket Breath Poems
PoetryAn eclectic and sometimes prickly bunch of poems which will hopefully give you a pocket breath sized piece of my mind. Which may be more or less than enough. Enjoy! Comments and critics welcomed. I'm slowly adding poems, hopefully one a week.
