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1.1k · Apr 2014
Liz Apr 2014
Salty mess is laminated 
in hard rime
whilst the moth ribbons
like a broken lasso 
over the bathroom tiles.

In your letters 
the handwriting conveys 
your shaking vulnerability
in the fog.

The rime and 
The grapefruit soap 
and lye solder your calico dress in blisters
With cascading Tempera over your chest

Along the globe 
of your eye, camel eyelashes
powdered skinny 
with make up shower with sadness then close in drug dry desperation.

Your legs 
are dolphins enthroned 
in scarlet 
with grazes and gazes grace them with concern.
902 · Apr 2014
Liz Apr 2014
Wishful butterflies
startle the wistful
rain in June.

Garnet spottings
on their silken wings decry
the wet pellets
which scatter the grass in glass.

The mallard sighs a sweet
hymn and candles
smoke down from the clouds with sun rays which pay in gold for all things great.

Dragon flies
across khaki swirls of pond hover
and dip with the rush of the thrush's song.

Flowers huddle in the puddles after the monsoon
but soon
their proud stems will bend and weep tears of sap for the summers end.
900 · Apr 2014
Nature walk
Liz Apr 2014
Down the aisle of
dandelion clocks
we stroll,

Copse's line our quiet 
lane and thrushes 
flit between them.

All that can be heard 
is the soft thrum 
of their wings behind the veil 
of thistle.

A train of mist 
follows the missed 
lace daisies latticed into a thousand spiderwebs and

The Grass gloved 
in due teary dew 
follows us.
In a melancholy mood
898 · Apr 2014
We spoke of sweet things
Liz Apr 2014
The tree's knarled,
melted bark dripped down
the warm, burnt umber
in its spokes, dropping mellowed honey as we climbed the branches.
We spoke of sweet things
like the kind frosts creeping into the valleys of misted bloom, as the silver crescents rise higher by day,
entangled by wreathes of smoke.
We spoke of that very oak tree and how it's palsied trunk had witnesses so many fires.
We spoke of love and how (despite the cliche) we can not live without each other. We together will beat on through the charms of the cold thistle.
We dance round the dusky colonnades as the stars shatter around us and the moon's cancerous head rides higher.
855 · Apr 2014
Liz Apr 2014
O' what sadness comes
with January.
After all the Christmas bells
have rung their final
and New Year has been
cried with united hints
of regret,
a melancholy air

Maybe it is the perpetual
fear of man,
of beginnings
and the sense
of our winged lives
flying by while we pray
our oars will take us
somewhere brighter.

Or perhaps I am being
pseudo profound

Though don't you get
a summing sense of January
in the Christmas tree?

It leans bare, sadly against
your house while the
fairy lights
are packed away
into cardboard boxes
792 · Oct 2015
Liz Oct 2015
Feel like my life is when you're driving on the motorway, everything is grey and the same and there. And you occasionally smile and people in other cars but you can't reach them, and you're meant to be on the way to somewhere but it feels like you'll never reach it.
789 · Apr 2014
Melancholy nature
Liz Apr 2014
Sickly sensuous, the tree's burning branches twisting towards the frosted eternal ceiling, sunken hollows and curved swings are fragilely bound by frayed roots which grow by day under cheerful sundials reflecting the sky's chiffon ripples.
Joining the trees bowing branches were spidery threads scalloped between the mosaic webbings of wooden latticework; 
The odd turtle dove getting caught momentairily in the silver embroidery and cooing in alarm, before cooling under the star-shine.
Amorphous, brushed clouds rolled in rhetorical significance unknowing of what power the wind holds,
whilst black sac ravens drifted aimlessly down the purple road like the dry tumbleweed.
671 · May 2014
Autumn days
Liz May 2014
Autumn trudgings lurk the air
Searching for a soul to bare
Their weight upon, so heavy
They break from trees in heady
Harmony, brown and sog
Yet crisp in the fog
mist mornings which creep
Into road as an early sun peeps
Above our golden horizon folding into
Faded merry-go- round and blue.
Autumn days are fairly sad
As you wait for dormant trees to sag
And groan
As their coverlets are blown
Onto the soft down
Of concrete frown.
These are the autumn days to me
Brown, melancholy, mahogany.
671 · May 2014
Liz May 2014
The sky's lanterns shower powdered grapefruit in your eyes.
Lashed, mascara'd,
in doubt
The grapefruit turns to wine
And pours out the torn
pages.One by one
they disintegrate
Into the ashes 
at your
619 · Apr 2014
Liz Apr 2014
In bed together we drank dank methylated spirits 
as your hot water bottle,
my one last reminder of you,
cools to a 

My heady heart hurts
because I miss you
however I know
you are probably happy
and just a few hours away,
although I will have to
endure several months without hearing the quick stomp
of your feet
up the stairway.
590 · Apr 2014
Gobbledygook musings
Liz Apr 2014
gamble away the

In a y e a r we will fl            y
into the s    a and

s    o      a        r over your smile.
Nobody speak.


day in Spite.
       r   n
In F.      ce

Shall we
the s  ds of your t   i  m e?
my time?
its\                   /time.
     been a long

  a   b  e
g  m  l        away our t        ime.

a year
or so. I
wont want the grass
to grow.

it w-o-n't allow

           s        e
your    m   l        to     s   o     a    r.
Pretty much wrote gobblediegoop while listening to a song and not really paying attention. Maybe it could be described as abstract. lol perhaps not. but read into it what you will.
590 · Jun 2014
Finally crying!
Liz Jun 2014
It feels nice to 
Finally have tears 
After weeks of
Borderline crying 
Frustratingly nothing
Salty tears
Staining my cheeks
Running from 
My lashes
Feels free.
587 · Apr 2014
Liz Apr 2014
to see you
and the wild hares
but tonight the twilight's
hiding it's secrets
546 · May 2014
Bath tubs
Liz May 2014
I dimly wonder
why my eyes are filling
up yet again like 
hot bath tubs
which steam over 
before evaporating
into mist on the mirror.
472 · Apr 2017
Spring 2017
Liz Apr 2017
The blossom so sumptuous
Hanging in plump, sugared rose.
The new leaves dangling like lime green tear drops, glittering like jewels against the blazing evening sun, making you wink as it warms your face.
Inspired again :)
443 · Apr 1
Spring lock down
Liz Apr 1
The magnolia was slowly turning to leaf.
Wide high heather hedged
around the cottage.
I suppress a cough
As the green man beeps for no cars.
401 · Apr 27
Liz Apr 27
Think of your favourite place.
I think mine would be the grassy downs
Where you’ll see a kestrel hovering,
Where I’m guaranteed an hour of peace,
Where in summer dandelion clocks
Sway silhouetted against
A golden sun.
Where I’ll be home.
375 · Apr 2014
Liz Apr 2014
You cry
for the lost lands of ice
and cry
for the wounded
and the searching.

You cry for yourself,
some will say.

You cry for the fact
that you cry for you,
and cry
for that fact too.

You cry
that the brave
don't cry, though
some would say
they do.

And when you've
crying and
the rushes have crept
high along the brook,
you cry
that you are older.
Just a poem about crying! not too sure about it
337 · Jun 2018
Liz Jun 2018
Hot, quiet and still days of June.
The air hangs and lingers,
Heat swirling creating bright
Beads of dew, popping up from your
Skin like little flowers or the
Tall grasses that curl towards the sun.
300 · May 2014
Sick of this house
Liz May 2014
I just heard something-
Like a snake in the wall
A hiss then a thump.
I wonder if it was a rat
I thought they were dead.
I wish they were dead.
I'm so sick of constant
fear of my house, the
anxiety of the grisly 
running through
the walls and making
The floor shake.
I'm sick of the thudding
under my ribs which
painfully quickens
as I stare out the
black, transparent windows
from the lit utility room
into the darkness beyond.
I hate how exposed I am there.
I'm sick of the chairs in the
the loft which, when you
are not there, softly roll.
Or the printer screetching
A print even though no one is
There to print!
I'm terrified of your ashes
sitting silently above me.
Maybe it's me though
And not this house.
Perhaps I am
just paranoid.
Having a rat infested house *****.
284 · Jun 2018
Liz Jun 2018
Swathes of swollen, rolling hills
With chops of fluffy, dry grass scattered over. It’s nice knowing they’re also not perfect, no one has cleared away they’re loose ends.
Silver, bumpy cloud fluff is grasped and pulled along through the air.
Blowing wind is picking up planting a chill on my arms raising the little hairs like baby fuzz.
239 · Jun 2018
Liz Jun 2018
Sea foam and turquoise bubble bath
Waves crash. Or sigh on a clear day
Sigh with despondency at their monotonous lot. Maybe storms are their way of letting off steam, of screaming. High ocean froths at the mouth in anger.
197 · Mar 27
Spring sunny stroll
Liz Mar 27
The lake looked luxurious,
Opalescent folds of china blue,
Twinkling stars upon water,
Gold russet rushes gently swaying,
Lime catkins freshly woven onto dangling branches.
A Moorhen wades in the riverbed,
Diamond ripples orbiting its sillouhette.
Plump new leaves bedeck the low horse chestnut trees and their fingers stream in steamy shallows.
Went to wollaton Park again today and the light was stunning.
190 · May 16
Fresh spring
Liz May 16
Getting goose bumps at the brush of new
leaves gushing together on a warm wind.
The soft crunch of grass underfoot
Like the pad of foot on snow.
A mustard brown duck waddles towards me, his comrade in tow,
over daisies snow dropped on grass.
181 · Mar 18
A grey spring day
Liz Mar 18
Little droplets of green
speckle the woods.
High tinkling chirps is all I can hear.
Mossy bracken cobwebs the ground
and the puddles ripple as I trudge.
113 · Apr 19
April 10th
Liz Apr 19
Silent stillness.
Emeralds hang from the treetops,
glinting in milky rays of
a peeping sun.
Juicy buds gather,
tinkling birdsong amidst
the newborn canopy.
White sea-foam of
elderflower and meadowsweet
spray the grassy banks.
Just love it in spring when everything bursts into life.
80 · Mar 18
Rivers and birds
Liz Mar 18
I can see sand on the watery riverbed.
Dappled grey clouds reflected ripples.
A curious swan glides over to meet me.
Winter is relinquishing it’s hold
and grey-green grass is sprouting.
Shaggy sodden crows bob their heads and
the geese are calling.
61 · Mar 18
Wollaton park
Liz Mar 18
I stand in the dilapidated chapel.
Paint peeling from the walls like the bark
of a silver birch.
Dull light cascades in from high archways.
I now approach the manor, in through
the kissing gate kissed with moss and dew.
A ****** of crows battle across the  battlements in still air.

— The End —