You walk among
the haggard battle scars
of mountainous peaks;
of midnight forests
with black cotton stitches
like crows feet in shadow
and ragged crags that weave-
through the wilderness
in undulating waves
of white thread.
Copyright © 2014 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)
We sit under flags
that dangle like octopus legs-
paddling the air like
astronauts lost in space.
Copyright © 2014 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)
They weave fingers of evergreen,
a canopy to shelter
from the bitterness and cold.
Guardians of nature they close their ranks
as soldiers of symmetry;
the sharpness of colour, blinds me
through the camera lense
unfiltered-
capsules of red as paint dripping
floods the forest
in bursts of joyous stain.
Copyright © 2014 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)
Purple jewels glow on the hillside,
cat eyes in the dark
guiding headstrong travellers on
-to the ruins by the sea.
The ghosts that roam the valley
are but shells of times long past
yet their spirits linger still
-to the ruins by the sea.
As the stormy skies rumble and
the tumultuous waves roll,
they mourn the forgotten;
the ruins by the sea.
Copyright © 2014 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)
I enter into an arena flanked with red
a celebration of which I begin to write-
the words flow like streams, a dream within a dream
pages that blossom, something strong, pure
and fills me with pride.
But as the pages fade and all is no more,
I wake, wishing I could capture my dreams
for is all simply not,
a dream within a dream?
Copyright © 2014 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)
*
(Edgar Allen Poe inspired)
The insanity of talking dolls,
the lifeless bundle of thread and stuffing,
breathe life just by playing,
giving it a name, making a voice,
moving its limbs. Already it is real,
real name, real expression and then;
it becomes not an ‘it’ but a ‘they’
and when you come home you wonder-
at the way they sit and look out the window.
Because they move all the time-
…..Didn’t you know?
Copyright © 2014 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)
It waddles through the silt of the marshland,
the salt water seeping into the cavities
like the toothless grin of a sailor;
compressing the sand of years forgotten
under its gentle tread.
Copyright © 2014 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)
The turf is ploughed straight like
newly dug graves- surgical, pristine.
They bob in acquiescence,
bringing the gift of rare beauty.
Yellow, soft pink, blood red;
the overpowering
drugged scent that ripens the air,
captivating the senses in the solitude
of a secret garden.
Copyright © 2014 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)
She bobs on a sprightly stem,
pirouetting creature
under shelter of a bitter storm.
Mindful of her sisters’ envy,
she joins the ranks with pride-
an army of maidens
basking in rays of gold.
Copyright © 2014 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)
The egg walks …no, he rolls.
Right off the cabinet,
by the pumpkin faced Satsumas and the
waffles with their buttered sugar coated look.
Cradles his stomach, the moist beads of sweat-
a heat too much for a high density egg;
and falls
with a happy big grin- and splits in two.
Chocolate in red foil,
chocolate bursting at the seams,
oozing liquid…
Copyright © 2014 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)
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