Tag: landscape poetry

  • Moonscape

    Perfectly circular moon seems glued to the sky.
    Low, yellow, flat – like a piece of parchment.
    Dry and uneven.

    Street lamps holding up to it fistfulls of yellow glow –
    sacrificial fireflies.

    I feel flat, stuck to the landscape like a rough sketch.
    Eclectic collage of bits held together with glue.

    Unmoving.
    Unreal.
    Unalive.

  • Sketching on the train

    The space partitioned by electric wires
    And anchored to the ground by the poles
    Is well and truly caught.
    They cut my vision –
    Straight lines across unending undulation
    Of hills and clouds.
    Ugly not because
    Of shape, but due to insular connections –
    They only touch each other, not the space
    They fracture with the guiltless disregard
    Of those unaware.
    Rest in peace
    My endless space
    Available in pieces.

  • Morning song

    The sun is low
    the moon is high
    the sky’s aglow
    and I get by
    on coffee
    and hope
    and light.

    The heady air
    is in my lungs.
    My head is bare.
    I speak in tongues
    of futures
    and hope
    that’s bright.

    The night is waiting
    but day is long –
    time for creating
    another song
    with nonsense
    and hope
    and rhyme.

    While sun is shining
    there’s time for fun;
    there’s no divining
    when day is done –
    depleted
    of hope
    and time.

  • Cobbled together

    Today the sky is low overhead.
    It’s paved with clouds – small and hard;
    It presses down, hue and weight of lead.
    You feel hemmed in an empty prison yard.

    Today the sea is cold and oily-still,
    reflecting cobbled sky – grey shades on grey.
    Today the pain is harder to conceal,
    as heavy blankness saps your strength away.

    Today it’s hard to leave the past behind
    you try ignoring sky and sea in vain.
    They press too tight, you panic, deaf and blind.
    It’s hard to move, but harder – to remain.

    You trudge through empty, foggy, silent streets
    the road is uphill. The hill is high.
    One foot in front of other, body leads.
    Insensibly, you walk into the sky

    And on you walk, along the cobbled sky,
    the sea above reflecting endless plain.
    To see the world anew. To say good-bye.
    To greet the sun that burns support away.

  • Morning

    Cicadas’ chirping is insanely loud,
    the sticky air – thick and full of fog
    and I can barely inhale this morning.

  • Big Fish

    The waves are rushing, breaking on the rocks
    but seas are still inside,
    completely silent.
    Expectant.

  • Summer Day

    Dried tears of rain
    streaking the window.
    Tired late train
    slogging through the dusty landscape.
    Long summer day
    dragging into the past,
    unheeded.

  • Fire

    Smoke slithers along the embers,
    fire dances and undulating
    lines are feminine, rhythmic, slow,
    soft and sinuous, mesmerising…
    Slow time feels sticky, like syrup.

  • Night

    The chilly air tastes a little bitter,
    spiced by the silver light of crescent moon
    and blinking stars continually titter
    this endless night in June.

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