In a kiss shared over a sparkling skyline,
Where fingers would freeze in moonlight wind,
Your touch is soft, and numbs the sting.
The love we found was a heavenly kind
So I’m convinced you are an angel – mine.
A good kind of parasite (I guess) – A poem
A heart wrapped in hope – a gentle embrace,
Puncturing one root at a time, now a heart encased
In hope – it grows. Implanting dreams of could be
And vision encompassed by a vignette, a keyhole –
Painted on the back of my eyelids is an outstretched hand,
Promise hidden in every second glance, every smile, and
My heart is in the clouds while my feet are on the ground.
If only I could pull them back together somehow –
In my spare time I want to be a sunflower – A poem
I sit cross-legged on a sunlight coated lawn
as Mother Nature strokes my forehead,
her silk caress lulls me into a daydream
commanding silence and slow breath
with my worries suspended in a sunbeam
she draws out every weight in my chest
Sunday morning quiet – A poem
They surface in quiet moments. Starting small, with a spark,
with a glimpse into something else, a flash of mind,
like a blink going the other way, but they build in an exponential
crescendo and soon I’m stopping every minute to take my gloves off
and write something down because the thoughts just keep coming,
and by the time all the dishes are clean, the bubbles have all disappeared
and the water is only on the verge of being warm.
A box of past things – A poem
I collect pieces of life as I journey through time –
Bookmarking days and moments as mine –
Ribbons separating pages saying: ‘come back to this!’
The view from a dream – A poem
Echoed thoughts in a deep dream, speak
Of splendour in a mirrored world mind –
At the close of day, and the dawn of sleep.
Motionless – A poem
There is a quiet in the air I can almost touch,
And time poised at my fingertips,
And the world seems an odd kind of still,
A waiting kind of still.
Hopes of a tree – A poem
We tried asking politely,
Quietly, talking amongst ourselves
Hoping you’d overhear in hushed
Rustles, a subliminal message
In your ear (save us).
Always – A poem
Old lovers, old friends, had beginnings and ends,
But as my grip slips from the recollection, vines wind
Their way up a sleeping spine to twist into my sleeping mind,
Thorns hooked onto the memory, grown into a dream –
Becoming a dance with the familiar amongst the unseen.
Haunted house – A poem
Some nights make a haunted house out of a home,
when the midnight sleep silence leaves the awake on their own.
A phantom hand on my shoulder, a chill in my room,
or the faint scent of an oddly familiar perfume.
Lauren Kathleen 