~ Feathers fall in the forest ~

Feathers fall in the forest,

through the cracks of the early morning sun,

footprints buffered by waves that hit shore- they too fade,

for like seasons that flitter past the underbelly of a tomb, she weathers it all,

weighed down with armour, past the-

obscene feathers glistening with an acid curling of poisoned dreams

Those doors locked shut should never be opened,

the storms of sorrow that pull the corners,

like phantom strings of a ventriloquist’s muse,

marooned on the shipwreck of her youth,

it grows roots, flames that lick the skin of furnished walls,

Porcelain figures, shaken loose from oiled pages kept in shadows

For Hell is here.

Shrouded by grotesque wisps; eye sockets distorted; shattered,

don’t touch – don’t look,

through lantern flames she weaves through the deepest part of night,

whispering with strength beyond the raging of a tempest- ’follow me’,

and reflected beyond the seductive eyes of a devil- you do.

Copyright © 2019 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)

Edge of Silence

As we sit on the edge of silence,

gazing down to what has come before,

unrivalled dreams, stained apricot by passing suns,

like rain through our fingers no more,

mirrored strength, as marble hardens around-

our finest inspirations to fill the void,

as seasons flash, eternal;

never abandoned, relentless, never destroyed,

a memory flits by with her wings of silk,

so transparent and pure in the light,

of shadows that once were, carrying their weight,

or so nobly let dreams alight.

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Copyright © 2016 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)

Oyster

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It is the yolk of a pearlescent oyster,

A Viennese swirl baked to a slow caramelisation;

It hurls itself over the broken edges of peaks, smashed like egg shells, sculpted in marble.

The cracked tiles of the village are doll houses in miniature,

you can cut the clouds with a knife, spread it on the plains like a dollop of thick cream.

Molten metal cannonballs shot in rose gold.

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Copyright © 2016 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)

 

~ Ink ~

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They swarm on the breath of a midnight shadow

glossy with the ink of stolen dreams.

Faster, towards a hurricane’s spinning wheel, faster-

draining the sky of its sapphire violet and dying sunset,

of fresh rain sliding down a windowpane.

As shredded paper, they settle on the hillside; paralysed.

Beautiful, stripped, like a shooting star.

Twinkling, as lost treasure under the ocean,

Arching in a slow cruise, their feathers burn to ash

and are taken.

Below, in fields the colour of squeezed limes, strawberries tremble in anticipation

until even the broken sky brushing their cheeks

~ matter no more.

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Copyright © 2016 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)

A dedication

woodland watercolour

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The cottage has opened its doors to me,

of dreams long foretold,

of poppies and tiger lilies, violets three,

and memories dear to hold

*

The path is worn through tender days,

the seeds blossomed; overgrown,

through woods and bluebells I long to stay,

o’er moss fair winds have blown

*

She halts my quiet sighs,

bent down with grains of sorrow,

and beckons me forth on green fields lie,

Where none but Death can follow

*

Storms rage on in faraway lands

but close stillness and quiet roam

It comforts the voices of my consumed heart;

and tenderly guides me Home.

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Copyright © 2015 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)

song of solitude

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The whisper of mist, stealing over the land like dream’s breath,

o’er ruins, a fractured tooth on the rolling hillside,

discarded and forlorn as seasons pass.

Unto all stained in russet red, gold,

chasing an enduring reflection, for evermore.

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Copyright © 2015 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)

Flight of Fancy

 

scotland20090521-36Clouds pass above like weightless trains
as you shyly hide among folds of emeralds,
pulling close grey hems that rustle
embroidered with white, baby pink roses
as they shift their symphony to pass through dusk.
Gravel crunches lightly under your heels
as you glide beneath stormy clouds.
Running- faster, through memory’s slippery fog
and the lane strewn with polished glass
grasping the hope of your journey’s end;
and the lonesome figure dressed in white,

-waiting

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Copyright © 2015 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)

All Love

swirl-divider4I have heard that all ‘love runs deep,
like a river, deeper than the darkest sea’
built on the foundation of harsh experiences
that make us who we are-
Strength, independence, self reliance
it is a fire that courses through my veins
and gives me the strength of a thousand men.
I will never give up no matter how lost,
how scared or tired I feel
I will stay true to myself
because all love –
has to start from within.

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Copyright © 2015 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)

That Day

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Do you remember the time we went looking for a ring I dropped?
You followed me blindly, peering under tables and chairs
-in a room bathed in twilight.
Knowing all along, I must have dropped it in the streets.
But still you helped me-
fatigued, crouched on small legs
wearing your grin and a defiant
sense of adventure.

That’s love.

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Simplicity

630646_11394153_lzSalmon pink splurge over liquid blue.

A tail that flutters like an eyelash,

sinking to the grass in petulant smoke.

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Copyright © 2015 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)