Drifting particles of mist
drifting
drifting across the window pane
through fresh leaves of birch
over the greenhouse
attaching itself to the glass
making silver shapes on the grass
drifting in clouds of dim dull grey
what a damp day in the dark

a morning in mourning
so sadly opaque
that's why I'm awake with a gentle headache
but the air's good to breathe
so I'll wait to get up
when the clock reaches seven
I'll drift about in my room
getting dressed all in blue
to celebrate you

Margaret Ann Waddicor 22nd May 2016

Along the valley
mist goes on its journey to the lake
silhouetting trees with white behind their shapes
they're green
but that's not visible today
as all is dressed in grey
since the dawning of the day

now later
when the invisible sun went down
all turned a blue
such a strong pale colour
its aura framed the view
we felt as if we were in an ocean wave
drowned by this apparition
its delicate embrace

Margaret Ann Waddicor 22nd May 2016

A grey day
and I shall meld into the background
in my grey cardigan

grey on grey
grey on white

like blossom against a white sky
as now the crab apple has decided to flower
its delicate light in this grey
is beautiful

compensation for my heavy head
and troubles causing pain
helping to raise the spirits
till I am back again

Margaret Ann Waddicor 23rd May 2016

SPRING RAIN

Perfume of blossom after gentle rain
it permeates my senses
breath on hold
as fantasies of wondrous gardens fill my mind
or meadows of wild flowers

my step is lighter
my smile is brighter
my psyche takes a ride
into the world of joy
its heady intoxication

the drops of silver on my face
my new cosmetic
my cheeks are pink
my hair
each strand their little jewels
no other decoration needed

now I'm ready for this day
a thursday in the month of May

Margaret Ann Waddicor 19th May 2016

I watched the sun
a rose of gold
his beauty petalled bright
reflecting suns and moons from space
it spun eternal light
that touched each surface of this globe
where man and beast reside
a presence from which no living thing will hide
for he is the reason we exist
the reason we survive

Margaret Ann Waddicor 2016

To the drone of the washing machine
we are rocked into dreamland
out into the wide pale sky of evening
the clouds of grey are barques at our side
the trees
anemones that sway in tact with the tide
as all when we start falling into sleep
gets mixed

perhaps we're even upside down
who knows
our bodies rest on beds
but who's to say what's in our minds
that spin their yarns
of gossamer and silk
to bear us up to spheres we know not of
by day
unchanged
this theme we cannot alter in any other way

Margaret Ann Waddicor 13th May 2016

The moon is there
and yet we cannot see it
instead a grey black curtain
hangs its charcoal blush across the sky

impenetrable void
its subtle sheen is ominous
no word
it is an unwritten slate
for some anonymous scribe of night

if we could see the stars
their path describes its everlasting screed
in fits and starts of spinning light

such velvet darkness floats about
like some extraordinary cloak
of silent dust

Margaret Ann Waddicor 14th May 2016