some words
don’t exist

they are phantoms

teasing our
tongues

invading our
souls

spreading through
our veins

making us believe
in them

so we will share
them with others

that is the only
way they

can live
because they

don’t exist as
anything else

Copper leaves, the colour of old coins
scatter in mown emerald grass

Ashy sky streaked with vermillion
gives warning of a coming storm

Strewn hazelnut shells betray the
vagabond squirrel's hunger on the footpath

A sparrow camouflages itself
becoming a part of lilac bush bark

What seems at first glance a twig is
a slug resurrected by early morning rain

A perfectly prismatic necklace of crystals
spangles the empty washing line

Daisy sequins grace the Garden's
gilded gown of dewy grass

Sleepy cat awakes, to become death incarnate
stalking birds on soft and stealthy paws

Whispy white clouds drift cotton-like
on the grey altar-cloth of the horizon

And a solitary mouse erupts from earth burrow
to scurry across my feet

Introspection
The art of finding within
What you cannot live without

Blue eyes, ever so mysterious
Sealed lips,  always hiding a secret,
Red hair,  a dash of love when you run away from truth.


Joy shining in your eyes, laugh lines ever present,
Laughs escaping your lips as if it costs you nothing,
Hair playing with the wind like children with no worries



Eyes downcast,  shying away or guilty?
Lips smiling from here, frowning from there,
Hair,  half done up,  half swaying in the wind.



So tell me darling,  what are you? An open book or a relic written in God's own language?