Fragile Dust (a tritina)

like lace these fragile flapping wings,
new born from the chrysalis, pale butterfly
drying under a yellow sun, bright burning

full of life, vibrant, short lived, time burning
stretching out its virgin wings
clinging to a tender stem, this butterfly

climbing upward to your journey, butterfly
prepare to fly away, as I, burning
with desire to touch, with care, your wings

an awful thought, lost dust, wings burning, butterfly

Possessions

Our lives are full of disposable objects;
things we are given, things we buy.
From our birth to our death
we are magpies hording trinkets.
When we die they’ll be scattered
Others will decide
which ones mattered
to their own memories
or settle for intrinsic worth.

Some objects hold nothing,
others are full of feelings, stories,
warmth that leaves a long imprint
to be felt by some perceptive stranger
in a junk shop pile of the forgotten
the lost, the unwanted, undefined

the bowl with the flying swans,
their necks wrapped around each other,
was a gift from a lover

the stick with the broken handle
that once held a whistle
all that’s left of a father now

the stone from a beach. the gift of a child.
whose legs were still unsteady
faded petals and feathers in a box
the teddy with a skin worn thin by cuddles
the decorative key that fits no locks

a golden ring, an angel fish,
bracelets, baubles of no value,
a locket with a folded wish,
old and faded, hid behind a photograph
where no-one now will ever find it
or understand it if they did

a tarot pack, with one card missing,
because the Fool is lost and gone
every traveller journeys on

The Oak

where to go
when i am lost
i know i knew
it’s somewhere there,
beneath the oak

when the rain fell
though the leaves
i heard them splash
and felt refreshed,
shaded by tranquility

shelter still beneath the sun
green light filters
reaching branches high above
reaching always for the light

clear bright veins within the leaf
an open palm, resembling mine

Forest Night (new edit)

In the centre of a forest
I find myself alone.
I am truly lost.
I look behind the way I came;
Broken branches, sodden leaves.
I crashed through there in dreams.
I hurt the wood.
I see no path ahead.

Night begins to fall,
no sky in view above. I stand transfixed,
the ground beneath my feet,
unstable now, green leaves above a pit.
I cannot move. No footprints lay ahead.
I can only wait, deserved and destined fate.
I ask the spirits of this forest
for a way to see the path.

I hear no answer, just the hollow echoes of my voice.
I will stand here in the night and wait
until an answer comes.
Darkness gathers round.
In the morning
when light returns
I’ll try to find a better path
and attempt to make amends.

In the Forest

In the centre of a forest

I find myself alone.

I am truly lost.

I look behind the way I came;

Broken branches, sodden leaves.

I crashed through there in dreams.

 

Night begins to fall,

no sky in view above.

I stand transfixed,

the ground beneath my feet,

unstable now,

green leaves

above a pit.

 

I cannot move.

No footprints lay ahead,

no markers left behind.

I can only wait,

deserved and destined fate.

I call for help.

 

I hear no answer,

just the echoes of my voice.

I will stand here

in the night and wait

until an answer comes.

No choice for me in that.

Darkness gathers round.

 

In the morning  light will come

perhaps I’ll find 

a clearer, open path

 

In the Garden

I lost you,

somewhere in the garden,

where a path took a turn

downhill.

 

There’s a tangle of roses entwined.

Some of them have dark thorns

that cling to your skirts

as you pass.

 

The paths are a tangle, a puzzle,

twisted around like a rope.

I can’t  undo or decipher them

but I heard a distant sound,

amongst all the songs of the birds,

the gentle play of a fountain.

I need to slake my thirst.

 

I am sure I will find you there.

I met you once by a river.

By water I’ll meet you again

 

 

Lost in the Witchwood

the wood is dark with threatening trees

every time i look they are closer

though  i never see them moving

 

i have been trying to find the path now

for  a long lonely week or longer

i lost count of all time and direction

 

if the breadcrumbs we dropped ever existed

they are not to be found any where now

eaten by hungry birds for survival

 

does the witch of the wood really exist

she may have been killed long long ago

or is her house in the next clearing

 

is the cage baited with sweet delights

is the clang of the trap waiting ready

are her fires well stoked for the roasting

 

in the dark i stumble over ancient roots

twigs snatch at my hair like gnarled fingers

in darkness there is only despair

 

Shadowed

in springtime we wandered into the wood
walking through carpets of bluebells
their deep throated scent filled the air
we spoke of golden dreams, hopes shared,
tenderness, beauty, love

the air seemed to change, birds silenced,
a shift in the wind carried a chill
leaves rustled, foretelling a storm,
we drew closer together, light faded,
the wood grew still, night fell

owls hooted, trees shivered
off in the distance a twig snapped
shadows shifted, moving closer
limbs crashed down in the wood
we sought the forgotten way out

in a world full of shadows and light
lighting fires, frightened of witches,
huddled like Hansel and Gretel
holding on to each other tight
hoping to find the trail

cursed from the start
curses piling upon us
doomed by darkness and gloom
demons and traps closing in
too fast for any escape

in a world full of shadows and light
sunlight flashed through the trees as we ran
black bars pierced by illumination, too brief
we couldn’t see where we were going
how could we find our way?

finally we found a door, too narrow,
i went through it alone
‘Go!’ you said, ‘I’ll be here.’
but you became lost in there
while i wandered on in the world

the paths never took me back
it was all so long ago
i forgot
how will i ever find you now?
i have no key for that door