Euphoria is born on a lazy Sunday morning,
Wrapped in a blanket, fingers gently grazing
Your collarbone, or combing through messy sleep-hair
As you plant a kiss on my cheek, and whisper
A soft good morning in my ear.
Brain Atlantis – A poem
I take two fingers and wander up your spine,
Over some hills and meander into your mind.
A hopscotch through thoughts you left me in a trail
To collect in a basket as I stroll through this fairytale –
This brain-Atlantis of clandestine clouded dreams,
a blush pink memory lane of the people you’ve been
The city makes me feel small – A poem
A thousand feet drumming a heart beat.
Spies look down from tall tower eyes,
Watching as shrunken, scuttling
Entities swirl – phosphenes
In the city’s dream –
Who am I to
Anyone
But my
Self?
Ocean life – A poem
In youth you live a pond life,
Submerged up to your ankles,
Orange fish nibbling at your toes,
Pebbles clear as day just a few inches below
The surface. You pick one up –
A perfectly round pebble.
You smile, and that’s enough.
My angel – A poem
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.
Lauren Kathleen 