It defies gravity,
hanging on her bottom lip;
a twig caught in a spider’s web.
Suctioned by saliva;
a tender trail of spit.
The poison casts its final gasp upon the saturated sky,
expiring grey on grey.
Her fingers are gnarled tree limbs,
body small and shrunken, like
dried apricots in a vacuum pack.
She stubs her cigarette
on the school gates and turns,
to survey the field beyond.
Copyright © 2014 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)
I miss you:
and the games we used to play
of trust; your wise, green eyes
carried on soft, dust laden wings.
I took for granted- ran out of time to say
regrets bound in the cold.
Travelling afar when I lost my way home,
to glimpse the vision of your decay,
I see the shadows in a burning room
dancing their sadness away.
Copyright © 2014 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)
She walks on a tightrope to the sun
and falls in wonderment,
the uncorrupted flight of
fancy; fed to the demons
of a fresh chapter…
Copyright © 2014 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)
“It is what you read when you don’t have to, that determines what you will be when you can’t help it.”
– Oscar Wilde
“One always has a better book in one’s mind than one can manage to get onto paper.” – Michael Cunningham
The tent sways softly
in summer’s exhaled breath,
emblems of crests twinkling
white and mauve,
budding roses gently dance
weaving a canvas of brazen blue.
A ripple, brilliant sapphire mirroring
the tranquil lily pads,
dabbed from a painter’s jug.
Cat-tails trail loose their limbs
caressing its translucent glass,
bows pulled taunt
as archers release kindred arrows
in a flash of crimson light.
Copyright © 2014 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)
The creek ripples under a melancholy sun,
boughs shift their forms
to shake loose the morning’s dust
and intertwine the feathers of joyful reeds.
Deep in the creek in darkened shade
its tarpaulin a reflective shadow;
the spirits of the water reside
to brighten the hues of green,
under nature’s loving gaze.
Copyright © 2014 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)
Mouths chewing in a mechanical rhythm,
that ripple shadows
on whitewashed walls
and etched wooden desks
with the history of well worn names
scribbled by pens
bent over the latest task.
Not a sound can be heard-
no, not a sound
save the fire raging
in beating hearts.
Copyright © 2014 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)
It hunches forward, jutting into the skyline
its skeletal legs
flexing;
spine digging into the rock face.
Memories of soldiers, powdered
dust particles
swept in the winds;
to settle outside city walls.
Eyes yawning, sleep encrusted
like those of beady, black spiders
that harbour
-secrets of its own.
I think about my favourite things
and the places I want to go
of Roald Dahl and his witches
of mice and candy shops,
I think about the castles
and the dragons guarding gold
of girls with ruby slippers
and yellow brick roads.
Ladies waltzing;
chariots lined with silk
I think of heroic lions
pacing the heart of battle,
of exotic lands and wooden ships
flying stealthily over sand
of tea parties and white rabbits
and the magic of talking books.
Of mysterious black eyed ravens
and winning silver arrows
of lost Peter Rabbits
and wizards deflecting spells,
I think of all these things
and the pages swiftly past
but most of all the friends I meet
that will forever last.
Copyright © 2014 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)
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