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Mind the night before the winds blew,
both sat on the rock amidst the grasses,
discussing Enid Blyton and the frying pan sky.

You’d spotted land across the caol
and we trudged barefoot over the squishy
slake, beneath a blintering sky, to conquer

an island you now call your own. At dawn,
I picked blackberries for our breakfast,
as unaware of your fruit addiction as I was

of the cruel American wind that was about to
break us. Afterwards, I crossed the slake once
more, so you could freeze our plunder forever.

© Richard Duffy. All rights reserved
Memories of a treasured evening spent beneath the stars of the Outer Hebrides in Scotland with a new friend who is now my life partner
Norman Crane Sep 21
Three poplars grow along the river bank,
Three poplars reflected in the current,
Past is paint and the future is a blank
Canvas framed with poplar wood recurrent,
Reeds sway silently,
Tree trunks climb crooked,
Colors blur like smoky clouds unfurling
Colors blurring cloudy smoke rings spread
Across a pastel sky. Autumnal swirl
in kingly golden glow—presages:
Brush be quick / the sun dips / the light changes
Capture it before it rearranges!
Inspired by Claude Monet's painting Poplars (Autumn) from 1891.
Norman Crane Sep 17
The luminous grey undersides of clouds
Travelling a charcoal sky, speak my thoughts aloud
As thunder
                    Reflections of my mind's wandering eye
Pockets Aug 29
Those who don't go with the wind
Will be shaped by it
Their blood will be waves
Their minds will be canyons
They will be shaped to a fertile and forgiving landscape
So that those who get carried by the wind
Will have a safe place to land
Haley Protega Aug 28
A full Moon on the horizon of a powder-blue sky

The gentle breeze of Dawn passes me by,

caressing my cheeks like a lost lover,

soft as the clouds which in the distance hover.

I turn around, my back to the Moon:

the melody of daybreak begins its silent tune.

The first gossamer threads of Dawn's embrace,

cobwebs of brightness, Light made of lace.

A lonely bird towards the Moon flies,

hoping in vain to stop its goodbyes;

and my romantic soul melancholically sighs,

attempting to imprint the image in my eyes.

As the sunrise ripens, a celestial fruit,

it robs the lunar ambience, grabbing its loot.

And it basks in the riches that it slowly steals,

in brilliant ombre shades, as the Moon - defeated - reels.

The night's companion quietly fades,

ethereal pallor on now greyish shades;

no more powder-blue, grey turns to white -

it's the bed of clouds, prepared for the nightlight.

You've done your job, illuminating the way,

to travellers and dreamers, lest they go astray;

Rest for a while, take a little break,

until Sun retreats - then you can awake'.

The Poets' Lamp, nocturnal glow,

you'll shine again, with stars in tow.
Haley Protega Aug 28
I stand in a dessert without a single dune
- just flat sand as far as the eye can see,
And high above me: an unreachable Moon,
silently shining its silver on me.

Too distant for me to hear,
- but I know it sings
A soft lullaby about fear,
And sorrow, and broken wings.

So I keep walking, further still,
Through this nothingness of sand,
An emptiness I cannot fill,
I wish for a helping hand.

But there is none, and anyway
A helping hand I couldn't use:
I alone must walk this way,
Stand and win, or fall and lose.

A whisper from above and far
Tells me I'll be home soon;
I need no guiding star -
I have a guiding Moon.
Note: The dessert is a metaphor for depression, while the Moon represents the will to live.
Haley Protega Aug 28
My gaze flickering across this landscape divine -

a whirlwind of sentiments unfolds.

Yet a single word echoes across my mind:

mine, mine, mine.

These hills, these trees, the distant shore,

as sure as the breeze caressing the steeple:

they are part of me, and more -

I am at home, safe, with my people.

I feel it, I know it, the comfort it sings -

whispers of safety, a lullaby to my broken wings:

familiar and gentle, deep in my bones,

the ancestry calling from ancient white stones.

Rosemary, lavender, olives, and fig trees,

they tell me of history, of proud victories;

of battles, of sadness, of stories untold,

the generations with lingering spirits of old.

This is my land, I belong here;

the soft hum of time; a smile and a tear.
Visignano, Istria (Croatia)

(Latin, mea terra = my land)
Norman Crane Aug 22
I am white clouds
Blue sky drifting
Apart from me cicadas buzz loudly
Bare back on hot cedar planks
Mindfulness in bloom
Ideas like dandelion seeds
Arise before floating beyond the roof line
I am time—
The lawnmover engine turns,
reality returns.
Norman Crane Aug 20
in the arctic air
the sins of the tundra are
                in passing
the sun's beaming face
did smile upon the landscape
with a bright visage
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