friend

wait for me

as i drift with blinding intensity

into ethereal light

through forgotten forests

bare branched trees arch o'er me 

i look for the moon

but see only a filigree of time

echoing backwards

with sparkling memories

and mirrored images

of your constant love.

kd 29/7/12

image by zelko nedic

This is my poem for todays The Mag, go over and see what everyone else has written

shift

shift

the seasons are changing

golden fields cut low

in an ever changing dance

of life and death

birth and reaping

ideas sown and left

to  grow or die

golden light shafts through blue sky dawn

dust and barley scents the air

road kill crushed

buzzing

the air high

and sweet with decay

i hold you close

but need to let you go.

k.d  28/7/12

counterpoint

the counterpoint was a balance
of this and that
the black and white distinct
with rhythm and contours
until seeping in at the edges
lay possibilities
of china blue and mustard
itching for a feckless scarlet
to relieve the monotone.

22/7/12

My piece for todays The Mag with thanks to Tess for such an original prompt.
Picture is Figure Eight 1952 By Franz Kline

smoke haze

painting by Jack Vettriano

the sky is turning from pale silver to pewter
shadows lost to a gentle summer drizzle
the street below is steady
as i wait for you,


the old lady from the brownstone across the way
walks a dirty white terrier, ragged at the edges
a scarlet scarf tied tight under her chin
head set into the rain


i watch for you
at the end of the road
your familiar figure striding closer to me
my cigarette smoke curls
lazily against my impatience


i wish i could turn away until the bell rings shrill
tidy away the debris of my day
dishes lay unwashed
flowers decaying in the vase 
all await my touch
my neglect is apparent

however i stand stock still
almost afraid to blink 
my vision trained at the spot at the roads turn
i will smoke one more and you will be here
.
.
.
i will smoke one more and you will be here
.
.
.
i will smoke one more and you will be here
.
.
.


i turn away dead butts and flowers in the bin.


This is my piece for the mag over at Tess's

at the end of the day

chilmark hay by thomas hart benton 1955

at the end of the day

i lead you into the river

where you suck and blow

water catches on a velvet muzzle

droplets shower me

as you shake

the dust from your mane

the heat rises

pungent with grain and mite

as i caress dappled hair

my hands colour black with oil

sweated out the days

we wander back your long lashes closing

sleep walking the well worn route

to stable and  oats

the bulk of you sways against me

trusting.

For The Mag 125 over at Tess's

I have farming in my blood...my maternal grandfather worked heavy horses..he limped from following the plough , one foot in the furrow one foot out. As a teenager I was horse mad and spent hours helping out at our local stables, still at any given opportunity i will  go and see the horses in the field.

Ripen

A few weeks ago the barley field we walk along each morning was green....growing taller and the hairs from the ears waving silently in the breeze...

the other morning, as we moved  to the side of the road to let a car zoom by, a squirrel jumped out of the field right in front of the lodgers nose!!....and only missing the cars tyres by a nano second as it hurled itself into the hedge and up a tree....the black dog was stunned into a statue knowing he had missed catching an arch enemy by a whisker..

..today the barley is nearly golden..i love the patterns it makes close up....you can't see her in the photo but about twenty feet into this field watching us watching her was a beautiful young deer....ears alert just above the crop..she stayed stock still until we had passed by....

 every day we walk...everyday we see something wonderful......

400 and mag 124

reflected stars
languish as the morning breaks
birdsong rippling streams
as cold curled raven
hair entangles
the bower
fallen
before the cock crow
now anchors me at the source
forever damned
a bouquet of lily and rue
clasped to my breast.


.........


My Mag 124 and my 400th blog ...the picture prompt from Tess is by Odilion Redon, titled Ophelia, do go and see the others work here.