Poem Category: Miscellaneous

Harbour winds
the tugging of the yachts
for a midnight prowl.

We climb again
the waterfall sounds
becoming lost.

Feet up
the slow turn of the lime slice
in her rose tea-cup.

Drawing the dank
from our holiday house
opened windows.

Lunch
the ring around mother’s kitchen
a family circle.

Crematorium
a fine grey dust
wiped from the chairs.

Lily pad
also green with dawn
the old frog.

A priest
sits
at the end of sins.

The cricket chirps–
trapped in the curtains
another breeze.

Dusk darkens
the quickening of bus stops
approaching home.