Category: Making Verse

Stupor of the night
Gleefully escapes as wisps;
Smoke from a kettle
A new morning stumbles in
With brewed coffee on its breath.

Gentle breeze captive
Now, it’s just a mild fragrance
Hung on a clothesline
Warp and weave permeated
With cosy visions of a home.

The birds on my grave
Are possessed by the poems
Myriad stories
Ballads lost to hurried days
Forever buried with me

Wrapped up in tempests
Glitter hues of golden rays
On troubled waters
Transient moments of delight
Washed away by raucous tides