The couch grass has withered
for winters change
I make no apology
Milkwood so loftily summoned
As I venture forth
A prompt remainder
into the celestial wilderness
Time is running out
The lunar moon indicates
Even the sky can be shrouded
through the thin line
…Here,
as one
with
the air
i am a
stray blade
of couch grass
dancing
in the
wind..
As
Life is,
so am I
TODAY..
Black, cracked ice on a brooding fen,
Lamented calls of teal and moorhen,
Echo across frosted tundra and fell,
Accented by a single, mournful church bell.
Knitted reeds, hard bit by the frost,
Mute swan and mallard huddled and lost
In winters white world of ice and storm,
Deciduous branches rattle and form
Writhing patterns on peat bog and moor,
Itinerant rooks scavenge couch grass and tor.
Nighttime falls quickly 'neath a deep velvet haze,
Temperatures drop with the sun's weakened rays,
Earth settles down to a long winters night,
Reborn every morning in the frosted half light.
On http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/before_she_goes_away_663336
I tried to hold her water that washed her footprints in the sand
But water remained two of us... gulls circling away and... white salt already on the temple
I tried to keep the spring, as was the taste of the new flavor of herbs, young winds
But with spring left the two of us, only fragments of water on the glass and ash... from the first bonfire
I tried to hold her oaks magical powers, couch grass and a riot of summer flowers
Failed... put love in the grave... and stayed in the shower just dirt from said
I tried to keep the snow... after all, as white and pure young snow
The Blizzard only scattered snow... and now only with me young moon...
17.04.15 AKC
© Copyright: Konstantin Achapowski, 2015
The certificate of publication No. 115041702738