KICKING THE BUCKET

The moon has fallen
asleep in a bucket

can't get back out despite
trying to slide over the rim.

It trembles as a train
thunders past midnight.

A child tries to catch it
its tiny hand plunging

through another dimension
through to its nothingness.

The moon takes its chance and
escapes to the sky with a splash.

It's all gone now
( the barn of course )

but the house...the child...that moon
are no longer to be found.

Strange to think
a house can die.

A tree enters through
the kitchen window

lays
its head upon a table.

The bedroom
is without its roof.

A door still stands
without its walls.

It bangs in the breeze
a surreal Morse code.

The living room is home
to a family of nettles.

A sofa moulders
a new line in zombie furniture.

A hare stands upon a chair
barely able to hold itself together.

One of the chair's legs
genuflects to a sunset.

The hare hops upon
the rotting table top

enters the tree's head
and leaves upon its branches.

Somehow the bucket
survives.

Still standing outside
the outhouse.

It is full of storm
right to the brim.

It holds within itself
the moon of now.

Trains no longer
thunder by.

I, that child
now - this man

let the moon
splash through my hand

before throwing it
into the night's sky.

Always wanted to do that
before I kicked the bucket.

I've walked your floor

sat beside you in candlelight
looking at photos
scattered across the floor.

you remembering names
and people and prayers
I had long forgotten.

you are the dancer
who glides this loner
through sorrows and the stars,
across the mist of moments
most treasured

where in the stillness between kisses
promises are kept
and the warmth of your hand on my cheek
felt in places to real to touch.

your love asks for nothing
and when you smile your quiet gift to me

tender one, every breath I take is loving you.

we should thank our mum for giving us our birth
carrying us inside then placing us on earth
then she had to raise us be our guiding light
read us bedtime stories so we could sleep at night

she was always there when ever things went wrong
to guide us through the bad times with her love so strong
so we should thank her dearly our best friend and our chum
thank her for just being there.  thank her for being mum.

Bright blue skies
A few white clouds
Golden rays
Multi colored flowers everywhere
Green trees swaying
Fragrant scents adorn the air
Like perfume

Sunbeam days
Light calming breezes
Blow across the face
Teasing it ever so slightly
Like gentle butterfly kisses

Sunbeam days
Ocean waves pounding the shore
Turquoise water
Endless sandy beaches
Smooth as silk
Umbrellas everywhere

Sunbeam days
Music in the air
Hints of summer
Fill my mind

There are days
when the fat
rain beats the
tent like a snare
drum.
Sleep is impossible,
a distant
memory from youth.
Beautiful flowers die,
and green isn't quite
green enough.
It turns to olive brown,
then black.
People don't behave
and we can't make them.
I hope there is
rest when it's all
said and done.