Tickles of the straw fingers,
it will be alright they say.
Wave of the centre wind,
the saint’s at rest on the air’s kisses.
Join us they exclaim.

The scarlet macaw on her acclaimed throne,
art of ranking colours,
colours of a warrior’s triumph.
Rejoice in her name.
Rejoice!
Rejoice!

Bush deer content with the sound of emptiness,
the wolfs an ancient myth.
Bumbles bees retreating from the flowers,
along the yellow brick road.

The sky will never shed a tear
Today.
Tomorrow.
Next week.
Next month.
Next year.
In life.



Gabriel meadow. You are filled with my prospective destiny.
God bless you.

Justine Louisy
Copyright ©Justine Louisy 2016
All Rights Reserved

Crisp mornings.
The crispness inflamed the soles of my stem.
I shiver at the thought.
The shiver ponders my mind to the last days I ....

Enough.
The succulent hands of the summer breeze is here.
Myself and the other folks sway and cheer,
sitting on the tailored twigs of Oldman the oak tree.
Spencer the sun glazing our trichomes.
Warmth.

We exchange gentle rustling two and fro,
like the sound of an ancient ***** awaiting to uplift the show.
Blackbirds and wood pigeons in the air,
up against each other to strike the berry in the bush goal.
What a perfect life I’m pleased to see.

Maggie magpie why do you perch on my branch so?
your bewitching colours like a piercing cry,
surely I’m not yet to..

The howling of the clouds,
the punches of lightening,
The heavens they open,
good gracious how frightening.

The kicks of the autumn breeze is here.
Stomata is failing.
Stomata is failing.
I’m latching onto the twig,
my ancient armchair.

Carotenoids and Xanthophyll’s,
dehydrated wrinkly skin.
Gut wrenching red anthocyanin,
like lucifer leukaemia stabbing my soul.

Crisp mornings.
I disconnect.
I fall.
I hit.
I lay.
In the flurries of snow,
amongst my other folks.

Oldman the oak tree hospice is empty once again.

RIP

Justine Louisy
Copyright © Justine Louisy 2016
All Rights Reserved

Multiple braids equal multiple roots,
in the direction my fingers scoots.

Loose braids,
robust cornrow braids in a stack,
chanting all the way down my back.

A loose rope,
or a robust bridge.
You know which root to take….

Justine Louisy
Copyright © Justine Louisy 2016
All Rights Reserved

My shadows are out there fighting.
The click of my fingers are shouting not
humming at every beat.
The hairs on my head shedding their
curly laughter.
My vision is chasing the intruding floaters.
My throat is frying pins and needles for my supper.
There are eroded rocks in my mouth.

My breath the stench of life.

I hope you smell it as you walk past.


Justine Louisy

Copyright © Justine Louisy 2017
All Rights Reserved