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After striking a match

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There is a rubbing together

of hands.

An expectation in open palms

lowered over the grate

as a little cheery smokey spiral

ascends to be scattered by the icy wind.

 

From between the kindle rafted logs

the ballet of flames begins.

Slowly the gaudy dancers

perform their combustible leaps and curlings

snaking around the dead wood

caressing it like witches fingers...

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Terrible place,revisited

Vile house!

 

The ugliness

of its exterior

undeservedly beautified

by tonights snowfall.

 

But there is nothing

that could ever cover up or disguise

the victimised ghosts of sorrow

inhabiting its unholy emptiness.

 

Was this our home or our prison?

 

And still

after almost a lifetime

again my tearful eyes

are haunted

by impoverished visions

...

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69's in our 68's!

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We like a nice soix-en-neuf

before and after breakfast

and a nice soix-en-neuf

before and after luncheon and tea

but our idea of heaven

round about eleven

is to send for an ambulance!

 

_____________________________________

 

©  Stef Wilde 2015

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Face changer

That was'nt me yesterday

the bully

having my hands used

to hold you in that rough uncaring way.

That was'nt me yesterday

the Neanderthal

allowing ugly sounds to come from my mouth.

That was'nt me yesterday

the monster

looking at you menacingly.

 

No! it was'nt me yesterday

because THIS is me-

today

Mr Nice

telling you

that it was'nt me yesterday.

...

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Dads d-i-y sanctuary

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His sacred place.

 

This is where

the tool belted saviour came

to patiently participate

in the religion of reparation.

 

With honed Lazarus skills

he put new life

into dead and dying artefacts

 

items of withered beauty

or fatigued by the weight of years.

All lovingly restored to former glory

by the masterful hands of capability and inventiveness.

 

...

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Natural poet

HE does'nt need

to be falsely induced

into writing the 'good stuff'

like many did.

 

HE has no want

of seeing Lucy and her White Rabbits

driving a newspaper taxi

across a sky of Purple Haze.

 

HIS lungs are smokeless zones

free of indrawn highs.

HIS arteries are not highways

built for Speed.

 

HIS mind is not an egg

about to be haddled by Ecstasy

...

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When the sky Lion roars

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Blue and   Gold.       

Sky, and sand.

 

two coloured incentives,

for common happiness.

 

An oasis of leisure and repose.

Gilt grained playground,

for the Summer masses.

 

Where descendant radiant light

gives birth, to radiance within

all those,blessed by its touch.

 

It is out here

in this exclusion zone

to drab routine,

beneath skittering gulls,...

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Perchance on a dying day

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The weak Sun's watering

of the sky,ebbs away.

Sparse fields surrender

to the Moons inlaying of night.

Crows,rooks noisily clamour

in a small wood.

Suddenly! 

a Fox! in all of his majesty!

steps out from the glistening

snow capped  maze of undergrowth.

Stops momentarily,statuesque.

Joy pounds in my heart!

 

He noses the air

gives my motionless presence a ...

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