rossetti's model

wind whipped
the leaden skies brewing
a maelstrom of clouds
and dust flies into waves
we gather collars close
burying our noses into fusty scarves
buffeted into each other
you catch my waist
before we tumble off the path
you say i look like Rossetti's model
auburn hair cascading into heather
i laugh at your romanticism
secretly flattered
i parcel up this moment
to hide it in a black metal chest
along with autumn leaves
pheasant plumage and marsh cotton.

KD 29/9/13

Head over  to The Mag and Tess Kincaid for the other poets work on Magpie Tales no. 188!.

Wish me well.

An amber setting sun
casts my shadow westwards
long and brawn
across the hillocks of dunes
I have the sand and grit
of shetland
under my nails
grating with every depth i delve

my pony waits impatiently
rope tied to a lichened stone lintel
beside the church
he shakes and snorts
pawing the ground into heaps
and snatching at drifts of long grass
now dried to parchment ribbons

panic makes me dig faster
i must away soon
maybe to fight
certainly to defend
my waiting family
strong-held for the moment behind
high stone and prayers
i say a silent curse
to the cur who has led us to this

pushing bundles
wrapped in coarse wool
and downy feathers deep
our precious family treasure
covered by shards of shell and pebble
a grassy disguise pulled over
i count steps to remember this place
if god allows our return.

Wish me well.

KD 15/9/13

This is my piece for Tess Kincad and  The Mag.
The picture prompt lead me to here and the story of the treasure of St Ninian's and so my inspiration for this poem.

1 plus 1=

Mental arithmetic was never my strong point
toes and fingers counted
I endeavor to match the steak and fries
with chocolate cake and ice-cream
but I come up short
over heating in this jacket
and the guys waiting for my word
I order a turkey sandwich and cola
I have enough for that.

kd8/9/13

love, love, love Rockwell!!!
See the others work here at The Mag

The Oologist .

i watched you weave
your basket from dogwood twigs
blood red and lined with moss
moonlight reflecting in your eyes

i peer through the dusk  mist
curtains twitching with my heart beat
perched as you are
white feathered as the trophy you seek

i called you wicked and you laughed in my face
flushed incredulous
as i stomped upstairs
to hide my thoughts under the bed.

KD 1/9/13

The image is by Jeanne Tomanek

Go  to Tess and see the other poets reflections on this image.