Poetry

My favourite things

Brilliant crisp snow and frost covered berries,

Footprints that mark out our path and adventures,

Robins that flit from bush to tall tree,

seeing all of these things makes me happy as can be!

 

When the storm hits,

when the bills come,

when I miss that call,

I simply go off to my memory bank,

and then I don’t feel

so small!

Poetry

Mix tape

I pick up the pencil and lodge it in the cassette,

reeling in the ribbons flapping at my face

from the storm above my head.

My tongue catches between my teeth in concentration.

You watch like I’m messing with some ancient technology

from ages past.

I forget how young you are. I laugh at your expression.

Here, give it a try.

You take it and copy my attempts, finally reeling in all the ribbon.

Fast forward.

I don’t remember what was recorded on the tape,

but this is what was recorded in my mind.

I often drift by your patch

and wonder if you remember it too.

I should rewind and ask sometime.

Poetry

Waves in a teacup

I have this feeling

in my chest.

Like those soapy-water bubbles

you make as a child,

trying to blow the biggest one you can –

a lot of the time,

they pop

before you can release them,

but once or twice

you get one that works.

Proudly, you watch it float away

until you’re not sure

if it’s burst

or simply gone out of sight.

That’s the feeling I have.

It’s warm and cozy;

a squishy memory

you cling to

as long as you can,

snuggled up in a blanket

with a book

and a blissfully hot

cup of jasmine tea,

wishing for nothing more

than that moment to last

for as long as it can.

I don’t have a name

to put to this feeling,

but if I had to choose one,

I think

I’d call it:

hope.

 

Poetry

The Eager and the Patient

When the door opens

Out bounds

The bumbling bundle of bouncing energy

Wagging its tail

With flaming, eager, sightless eyes.

Uncontrollable happy smiles

Brim from its jowls

Demanding cuddles.

 

Behind, the experienced one sits

Keen gaze fixed on the attention

The blind bundle receives.

Foolish. Untrained. Impulsive.

But sometimes worth indulging

In a game of tug o’ war.

Part of the family now,

After all.

Poetry

Sunny Smiles

Buttermilk-stained plates

poke up from the fray

of earthy closeness.

They greet the day,

even if you don’t want to,

and when you do, they’ll be waiting

to gift you with smiles.

 

When the colour fades as the skies turn,

and the flesh huddles down

to protect itself from the oncoming

chill kisses,

you know that their solid will

is a promise

of their return.