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grumpy thumb Oct 2017
Russet leaves bid me farewell
a crooked smile from an old silent friend,
'time to go. I'll never see you again.'
Laments a dirge breath of wind
guiding them to a definitive
end.
grumpy thumb Dec 2017
Weather-beaten
crippled by season after season
cast iron hearts are tough yet brittle prone to shattering and erosion
by lover after lover
Possible repose
grumpy thumb Oct 2017
Waves receding into themselves
flaying no more at the shore
secrets once held discarded
like sheets kicked to a sandy floor

Amid the cracked shell shingle
and weaved seaweed mingles
left amber and driftwood sculptures.
Things long lost and dead to the world
are touch-rich in wonder and texture.
grumpy thumb Oct 2017
Tender wings take flight
manipulate the wind's might
such freedom, delight.
grumpy thumb Oct 2017
Can be hard to stare unflinching into the eyes of reality
coloured by harshness and badness riddled with tragedy.
Run by dictators and tyrants,
corrupted democracy,
religious fanatics,
blinded hypocrisy.
Innocent children washed up on beaches dying to be refugees
what's that teach us?
Fleeing the horrors of war, torture, starvation, killing and maiming.
Ordered by powerful faces on posters, the soulless have no shaming.
Shake our heads, "it's so terribly sad" express our empathetic views
before flicking on chatshows,
turn off the news.
Can be hard to grasp reality really
in our protective womb
harder to admit what happens closer to home, in the other room.
Violence, abuse, ****, neglect.
Smaller wars perhaps, but with the same truamatic effect.
These don't make the headlines or cover front pages
untill we end what's beside us we can't end the evil that rages.
grumpy thumb Sep 2017
Leaf lids fluttering
flirtatiously
leaf lips rustling,
uttering,
puckering under windy kisses. Gazing up through their stainglass limbs
a ****** of nature, but only in admiration, not in the strict meaning or sense.
No, not like that.
Some surrendered to the early flash of autumn colour.
Threw in their lot.
Disconnected.
Gentle deaths,
landing softly
be nothing left of them come spring.
Hope they died "the little death" making love to the wind in their own unique way.
Before humanity distroys them.
Little things, these leaves,
leaving the world and
a fool to wonder.
grumpy thumb Sep 2017
The fog lifted like shame
after a forgiving kiss on a brow by a loving parent.
The S of a cat's tail slunk off after an unseen temptation
lurking in the bowel of a shrinking shadow
as colours timidly emerged from rest.
Silver droplets clutched webs with just enough strenght to experience the sun's longing eye before dissipating in the warmth of the spectrum cast by its light.

The night from which I walked has expired from existence
leaving only residue of thoughts as circumstantial evidence of its passing importance.
Stopping the echoed drag and slap of footfall,
I stood tentatively listening,
witnessing one of natures purest gifts:
silence.
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