Shariah had turquoise hair and rouge so red.
Usually people like this are copse, they’re dead.
She must be fifty-years old a teenager said.
I rolled my eyes, at this young corn-fed.
Fifty is my daughter’s age.
She is actually fifty-one, on a yearly gauge.
So for him to say fifty as if it is a hundred and two.
Made me extra feisty, so I gave him the bottom of my shoe.
canopy uproots
lies upon the undergrowth...
breeding rookery
© Harry J Horsman 2022
Olive copse
Sitting indoors being old and are forbidden
to go outside, I dream of lazier days
then in the heat of summer, I had siesta under
a 500 years olive tree.
I was dreaming of the shepherds who slept under
this tree and the only sound was grazing sheep and the occasional barks of a dog.
I can smell the cheese he ate and the wine he drank
before they drifted into a slumber.
The sheepherders got old and died but the tree grows
bigger and bore fruit.
There was poverty here and a new generation wanted
a better life, they went to America to find gold
and get married to Amanda.
Alas, factories paid well, they married no Amanda, but
someone of hardier, hairdresser stuff.
I wonder if they ever dreamt of the old days when the sun was hot, sleeping under an olive tree.
The sun in its melancholy phase
dazed swirls, sun dial spinning
Pale moon but a mere shadow
empty ball, psychedelic haze
Into the bleary copse I tread
for a twilight detox of sorts
nerves on end, psyche suspends
light with shadows, a disco portends
Blipping pulses of light filter down
the pin pricks cause vertigo,
as disoriented interloper, stagger
through the bifurcated maze
Bristling limbs tap their snare drums
dissonant rhythms, arrhythmia creeps
swaying arms shroud every move
Damocles' sword swaggers o'er my head
The ground's tangled web straddles
my feet; jagged stumps, fibrous roots,
slippery Lichens harrow each quaking step
the seismic swell rises to my shaken core
An eerie wind serenades my imagination
grainy outlines appear in the distance
wispy figments dance in the shadows
above, silted holograms prance through trees
Picking up the pace, now double time
my lagging adrenaline to prime
shedding my sensory shield
my naked soul conquers the tempest
Into the snow white castle only tepid feet bound
Head mirror of quilted bed reflects a glimmering compound
Satin blanket spreads over each frozen mound
A blinding glare from the silted bed doth rebound
With each heavy step mist arises from fluffed goose down
Arching o'er head a crystalline canopy doth crown
The hooded frames as glowing sentinels ballast ground
The woody rails in their icy coat of arms surround
As tempest blows, crackling arms in groaning chorus resound
From portholes beaming, frozen pellets wayfarers confound
Alighting from pillowy perches, Red-shouldered hawks with wings unwound
Strafe the bystanders; with their prickly dander doth hound
A fibrous parapet of occluded, twining roots shields ground
Each truant sole straying from the beaten path will impound
Buried stumps as pulpy landmines on periphery abound
The errant, plodding heel with shocking pain to redound
Pace must quicken in the late afternoon stound
Dusk's chilling tides o'er snowy copse leaves laggards spellbound
As the last rays of light funnel into
the background
Enchanting visions of woodland nymphs mind's eye doth astound
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