She was wearing a purple sweater
His red headphones were swinging around his neck.
I hadn't spoken to her in years.
All we had in common was preschool playgrounds and chalk handprints.
Teaching me how to roll my rrrrr's.
It was funny.
seeing her like that
under the arm of a boy.
It was a context which neither of us probably thought we would be in.
Before all we knew was floral dresses, tricycles and growing lima beans.
Look at us Rosella.

In the attic
with sister
old computer.

Insert disc 1 of 9,
King's Quest IV:
The Perils of Rosella,

argue about
who types,
where next,

do we call
the hintline,
5 a minute.

Rosella walks
screen to screen
in red dress.

We direct her
to act and
to die.

Reload
Rosella,
start again.

It took
all winter
to complete.

I remember
everything,
the whale and

the bridle,
the ball and
the hen.

In memory's
treasury
this is among

the most dear:
walnut table,
voltage hum,

sister yelling
watch out
watch out.

The dews of heaven
She downs like the morning
A mellifluous creature, surfed ashore
Myrtle amid thorns; Quiescent
Heart of a royal; highness
Resplendent in garment of sapphire; radiant
The lady gouldian finch
Melodies inspires ataraxia
Beautific as wysteria
It’s her loving heart beaming smiles
Stretches as thousand miles
Incandescent as candle on a hill
Beacon of hope
Oh hear
The susurrations of a Gold-Mantled Rosella .

Tj. kwame

children's creative crayons
must be encouraged to write poetry
a splash of blue  
a dollop of green
a hint of yellow
a touch of pink
this being an innovative
use of ink

let their artistry
blend the colours of words
telling an engrossing tale
about rainbows and rosella birds

fostering a child's interest
in poetic art
shall compose a life-long
expression to impart  

a palette of coloured crayons
ready for exploration
writing verses of boundless
imagination

8 am sharp, coffee dark
avocado on TX toast,
two eggs and bacon - seared
Lighter than air, everything sweet like local honey
Golden brown with citrus skin
and cherry eyes on
an open face speckled with sea salt
Lying on a cloud of eggs
plain
Rosella

If Putin were a woman
I would ******
And send her a poem every day, exactly after midnight
Once she being seduced, we make a meeting
I wear a puzzle themed-shirt that already be ironed since seven days ago
At that time, I also bring her a rose blossom
She would smell the aroma, smile at me with reddish cheeks
Once the nodes of smile just last for five seconds, me so convinced
I pour in a cup of rosella tea with less sugar
She being more seduced, and sending a code by winking at me
And the expected moment coming
“Putin, may I ask you one thing, one thing only”
“What’s that?”
“Do reconcile America with North Korea. That’s it”