Wednesday, 21 May 2014

Poetry Thursday 111 - Left, Children - Is it summer?


Don’t give me that sad mouth down at the corners like a gibbous moon!
Didn’t I try to make you happy?
Emasculated my gender to keep a sickly peace.
But no – never enough no matter the Herculean effort.
My fault!
I got the balance wrong like the moment when dad let go the on-rushing bicycle and I leaned too far to the left.
Not the second time!
But never with a woman!
The balance never came right I always fell off.
Now the mystique of it is closed like a street of derelict buildings with boarded orifices.
Left, not unkindly, but nevertheless left.
Red brick walls, heart-like, strong but empty now.
Wrong choices! Picked the wrong houses.
Now all that is left are my own bricks of my own heart.
©David L Atkinson May 2014


Joy unbounded from a kaleidoscope of places.
The little buggers put you through your paces
But so much pleasure radiates from eager faces.

Dark hours of pain when they are not well.
Depth of illness can put you through hell.
Will they survive parents life span on Earth to dwell?

It is right that they should remain vital,
long after the ancestors have suffered fatal
salvos ending life mortal.
©David L Atkinson May 2014

Is it Summer?

Joyous gleaming sun teases out the timid petals from their leathery shields promising a kaleidoscope to the discerning.

Bird song is rich and shrill over the sound of the river’s passing piercing the still, clammy atmosphere.

Summer has arrived in sweaty, glorious power unbounded but as fragile as a spider’s sticky gossamer.
How long will it last on this temperamental island?

©David L Atkinson May 2014

God Bless