Time bequeaths a tune
Folding like fading petals
Butterfly breezed by

it is high noon
and white sunlight blazes the sky
the air becoming a wall of heat
it is a miracle anything survives

at the bottom of the sky,
long blades of grass climb upwards
rustling with movement
veiling all life in shadows

mother cat is promenading
striding with babies in her belly
they push against their mother
her stomach expanding gently like a rock

somewhere beneath the canopy
a shifty dragon lies
his snarling tongue is sniffing for something alive
slowly crawling towards a dent in the grass

a newly born litter of kittens
their mother still wandering for shade
their life snuffed out before they’ve opened their eyes
do they feel the sun kiss their sleeping heads goodnight?

Evenings a lovable sensitive thang.
Opting to pass usual good morning greetings as some sang.
Skipping morning bits.. rushing into the afternoon.
She welcomed the mid day
Knowing  with it a smile was on the way.
She allowed early evening to greet letting things bloom.
Working away late evenings as sleepy eyes rang.
Conversations a quick cute head nodding overhang.
Good nights are like lullabies of verbal hugs sangs.
Wasted evenings are snatching from beneath feet taken for granted rugs.
All to start another night in shimmering thoughtful plights.
Tugging away ribbons in flights.
Meaningful minds quietly dreamin.
As others may be secretly scheming.
Attentions paid to faded good morning hello's.
With hollow tones from yesterdays grading zero's.
Wash rinse and repeating..
Behaviors seems to be overwhelming.
Creativity craves new feelings.
Rare moments  seems to be fleeting.
Evenings are acceptable, noondays are welcoming,
as are the rushing of mornings.
selinasharday rosePoet s.a.m 2019-5-1

I open window to greet ashen sky,
A shy fellow he is, covered in misty clouds.
Laying in my bed, I douse myself In comfort.
Too comfortable… Watching bamboo spoon falling,
My finger too limped to react,
So I let it thump the floor.

Like a mother knows her child,
Like a reader knows his books
I knew you inside out despite all the shields that you put.
I knew what made you laugh,
I knew what made you cry
I knew what you wanted at 3 at night
I knew that your mind was part *******, part church,
the poles hidden behind swanky curtains that were a little out of touch.
I knew what it was like to be with you at noon and night
I knew everything about you, could’ve told you apart
with a blindfold on, in room that was dark.

Behind all the light, it was a little gloomy,
behind all the happiness , there was some fear.
I guess that’s where I felt short in knowing you, my dear.
For all the claims I make about knowing you in every way
I never could’ve predicted the way we fell and frayed.
Now we pass each other in the street and look away
as if we weren’t there for each other at noon and night every day.

through diaphanous blinds

radiant sunlit boughs

high noon;

restive breaths drawn

in palpable pain

balmy wind caresses;

disquietude loud

as sparrows chirped,

hints of perspiration

upon delirious forehead

crystallized;

she fell asleep

as calescence spread

waiting for the pain to abate