Give me death for an hour
To slumber in peace
And dream of eternity
Locked in autumns embrace
Gold to orange to red leaves
Still clinging to trees
Watching death dream
Unable to sleep
Hour by hour

You say I am strong
as if that will make my sadness melt away but
No amount of strength or grace
could make me forget the pain
I may come out stronger in the end
Or maybe, injured, damaged
Right now, I'm still struggling to lift this weight above my head
I'm just trying to stay upright

The day was hot
the sky was blue
the river flowed
the wild flowers bloomed
the warbler sang his bubbling song
the chaffinch too

this heat took out our energy
our walk was shorter
lunch was on the lawn
then in to find the cool
with cakes and ratatouille to follow
walk the dog and sleep until tomorrow

Margaret Ann Waddicor 25th June 2016

Heads down, minds closed, not interested in anything but the bright screen in front of you

Music on, headphones in, no one can speak to you

You trip, you fall, you never stop
Screen back on
You trip, you fall, and still you never stop

Everyone is always talking to each other
One another
I sit in the darkest corner of a room
I want to be alone
Don't speak
Read me aloud
My lines are only etched by mortal hands
Waiting for a god to understand
I've unlocked the door
Unfastened the lock
Unhinged the chain
And waited
Everyone grows sadder everyday
In every way
I hide in whatever shadows
Content in brutal dark
I won't speak
I'll cry in silence
In black and white and strokes of pens
Waiting for what I understand is color
And love

Yesterday I
opened my old
poetry book, when
I found a pressed
autumn leaf.
Its fragrance took
me back in time,
back in that cold rainy day
Then I was so young
and beautiful
when it got caught in
my hair by the
mischievous wind,
bathed in sky's tears.
But now it's dried
And it will never
be as it was before.
Just like me...

the Florida sun and i
baked your memory
into the bricks of Winter Park
i built a home for you
amidst the concrete and stucco
off Mills and Thornton Avenue
outside a crowded little tea-house

we'd read our poetry out front
to choruses of snapping fingers
well after dark
before driving aimlessly
through Orlando streets
with a melancholy soundtrack
keeping us fixed firmly apart

i'd lay my hand like a fallen palm frond
well within your reach
praying to a god i don't believe in
that you'd tease the ink staining my wrists
with your pinprick fingertips

i remember when we
sat beneath the pine trees
i tried to look into your eyes
but the windswept clouds
drifted listlessly
and for a moment
i was blinded

i could've sworn that there
were constellations
where your
irises ought to be
a nebulous Andromeda
hurtling eternally

so send me a sign
through earthquakes
and light-waves
that i don't belong here
pining