Leaf
It wasn’t the time to leave,
but stem chewed and gale combined and the leaf fell.
Hairstreak, full green not yet ready,
not curled by summer’s end, crisped by West Coast salt, mottled by frost or holed by Sawfly.
Shadow dancing the lake.
Tumbling, a fairground shuggy, a mother’s touch rest onto the blackness.
The magnetic water pull.
The long float.
Damselfly platform.
Captured on lava foreshore whipped by the fell breath channelled down ice ravaged ghyll.
Purpose complete.
Its forgetful host fed, post prandial.
Unburdened.
Awaiting the awakening.
Categories:
prandial, environment, loss, nature, seasons,
Form: Free verse
a quiet afternoon
mind unspooling a tranquil languor
post prandial serenity lapping at sunny shores
easing my way into the garden
to dead-head roses
to prune the over eager
feeling well
in a loosely-strung way
my dog threads my legs
wanting to tip me off balance
but I am centered
the minor antics of the too energetic
only a buzzing distraction
now the hound
is barking and chasing a squirrel
kicking up flustered clusters of sparrows
doors slam
neighbors yell
there’s a ballyhoo
I turn to exit the scene
not even trying anymore
Categories:
prandial, poetry,
Form: Free verse
it is a quiet afternoon
the mind unspooling
into lethargy
post prandial serenity lapping
at peaceful shores
now easing my way
into the garden
dead-head roses
prune the over eager
feeling well
in a loosely-strung way
my dog
threads my legs
playfully
perhaps wanting to make me tip
off balance
but I am centered
the minor antics
of the too energetic
only a buzzing distraction
but now the hound
is barking and chasing a squirrel
kicking up flustered clusters
of sparrows
doors slam and neighbors yell
there’s a ballyhoo in the backyard
I turn to exit the scene
not even trying
to stay damn well calm
Categories:
prandial, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Feb-ru-ary –
Snow-white blossom,
Winter hedgerow shining.
Now September –
Hedgerow harvest:
Sloe-black, slow, black,
Black fruit with purple bloom.
Sloe gin, slow, gin,
Let the alchemy begin.
Blackthorn, black fruit,
Steeped in finest London gin.
Locked in Kilner
In dark cupboard.
Wait till dark December ......
Ruby colour,
Rich aroma.
Delicious sip,
Post-prandial
Christmas dinner nip.
Mike Jones
25 August 2014
Categories:
prandial, drink, fruit, september,
Form: Free verse
A granite bust statuette of Nefertiti
Bought at Abu Simbel on our Egyptian cruise
Serves us as a solid paperweight
On windy mornings reading the 'Weekly News'.
A cigar on the terrace is my only indulgence
Just one for the whole day not long after lunch
Before we set forth on our post-prandial stroll
Round the urbanisation; we're pleased as punch.
We may encounter an acquaintance or two
For a chin-wag, who'd fill us in on the local news
Some could be true, but mostly hot gossip
Flammable, but no way we'd blow our fuse.
A poem gets written here right on this page
Without the least effort, (how stupendous!);
Who says English is not my first language?
I share this with you, and it's tremendous!
Categories:
prandial, inspirational
Form: Iambic Pentameter