There is a time, after early morning rain
When the world seems refreshed
Renewed
Full of possibility
But first, first comes the rain
After Rain
The Fae Child
The child was fae, they said
His look could curdle milk
Sour the cream
Ruin the cheese
Except the Camembert
(Who knows why)
But his skin was soft, like a peach
His hair, spun silk
His eyes, bright as starlight
Changeling, they called him
But I knew better!
#Flashuary #Day8
Twitter challenge to use #Camembert and #Changeling in a piece of writing
Twelfth Night
The glitter remains
Festive furbelows
Stored safely away
Order restored
Save for the sparkle
The Scottish Poem
A poem created using fridge magnets…inspired by a trip to Glenfinnan and the Road to the Isles.
My soul can rise, intoxicated
amid the liquid inspiration
of the shimmering loch.
The sorrow ethereal as a tender dream.
Stone and earth grind legends
in a bloody embrace.
I am haunted by the smell
of woodsmoke in the morning.
Winter Trees
Winter Trees
Winter and the bones of trees,
Giant ghost ships in a sea of leaves.
Stirring a distant memory of sails in the forest,
Pirates in the rigging. Clouds
Concealing things long-forgotten or imagined.
A twilight glimpse of sudden remembering.
Trees talk to each other, they say,
In an underground telegraph.
Do they speak of us, ever, in their long, slow growth?
The bones of trees, fed by mortality,
Outliving all.
First steps
Thanks for joining me!
Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton
Stuff and Nonsense 