sea, strange
ghost of
ghostly iron,

blue star of
sea-song,

love in your
song of ghosts,
in your ghostly
irons,

clouds darker
than the sea's
stark iron, their
ghosts the sweet
breathed mist,
their ghosts
the ghostly iron,

the sea, crashing
wild and iron-like,
the tide's ghost
also iron,

wind, wild and
high like a cindery
bird, caught in
the irons of the day,
metal star of the breezes.

light,
sense of shelter,
ghost of grey
smouldering,
little sky of
iron, heart-beat
like a ghost,
heart-beat singing
of love.

She is moonbeams
And dappled sunlight
Renewal and
New beginnings
Gracing the land
With fragrant blossoms
Buzzing bees
And dandelion flurries
As children play
In Spring’s garden
Blowing happy bubbles
And laughter floats
Touching the heart and soul
She is Mistress of Spring

Kelly Rose
© April 1, 2017

walking on the beach
yesterday we picked
up a scallop shell

white to ivory on the outside
multi shades of purple within
truly a beautiful thing

once home and hearth to the scallop
or plate to the serving of he
after his demise

sometimes decorative window
on the sandcastles side
sometimes shovel to dig themoat
to turn back the tide

not often but at a pinch
a rental for a naked crab
til a better fit is found

platter for a sea bird's feast

marker for a lost wicket
in game of rounds
or beach cricket

necklace on silver thread
part of small creature roof
as the tide surges over head

if we had found two
could claim it at a bra
for small breasted
mermaid too.

once part of life, vibrant and small
eventually to, become particles
of sand, tossed about in wave
and sea.

the scallop shell,
what beauty
delicate but strong,
calcium at its finest

tideline jewel,
and a great skimming tool

we left the scallop shell
with the waves, to continue
it's journey, we gave it more days

we sit at the edge of
vespertide
listening to the chorale
of evensong
this day's opus almost done
now tapering off in
slow melodious decrescendo..
it is the gloaming
and the final flurry of light
glimmers on the horizon

now the night becomes
the diva,
the first star has been wished upon,
the first sattelite too.
and the bass note of the cicadas
builds to a *****, needful hum...

lights go on in little square
patches, and the smell
of barbeque fragrances
the summer night air

under the streetlights
the moths come to dance
a dare each other to touch
the midnight sun...

and in our garden
the rustle of the
tame gone feral
rabbit "bellamy"
has begun...

a hulking grey white
shadow now he lollops
toward the tasty green
carrot-tops...
until the sound of pounding
feet causes him to freeze
considering his position
bellamy chooses discretion
over valour and departs with haste

the wind now has a coolness to it
and the grass grows damp about us
by still we sit enamoured of the changing
slow and quiet about us
the seas whisper secrets
and the birds settle in for the night
excepting those who hunt on silent wings

the stars begin to pop
bright white on the darkening sky
and the crescent moon smile with
a sideways grin...

it is now the darker things come
owls on the wing
spiders to reknit there webs
the big bass frog to sing his song
and the small blood seeker
come with whinging wings

now we must give the night
it's privacy, as we walk inside,
from the pond a series of sounds
means the frog has found dinner
hopefuuly a mosiquito buffet

the vesper tide hath turned
the night is now come.....

gold, round
it has felt a thousand hands
in sixty years

tomorrow it will be
replaced, the dead door
along with it

the old brass globe
knows nothing of gentrification;
its desecration of memory:

the carpenter who bore its hole
the first child to turn the **** to play;
the last man to yank it in anger

when he felt the bowels of defeat,
the bane of bankruptcy--the effluent epiphany
of eviction

how many tales began with
the spinning of the circle, the opening
of the door, letting in the light

tomorrow, and tomorrow, the door,
the handle, will rest in the landfill, the
graveyard of myriad doorknobs

all with their own stories of auspicious
beginnings, mysterious twists and turns--
plots thickened by the hands of time

i.

impressions
shapes
and sounds,
the shady-lane
trees,

the yellow
balloons
of the skies
icy arctics,
the pink
feathers of
the soil.

ii.

surreal as the
shifting day,
turquoise and
angular, bright
sky drowned
in the cold, brisk
air, language
of love and air,
base note of love.

iii.

love, impressions of
light and dark,
soft brush stroke
of sea-blue, air
the colour of
lips.

iv.

witching night,
darkling clouds
pressed to the sky,

love, settling like
a mist.

v.

sweet lips
sipped,
incredible
sky of our
dreams,
drawn close
like the
pillowy clouds.