From the maelstrom inside
the ring a rose of fire-pit
We blindly stoke in order to
create , make and turn
Grains of sand we can then
metamorph into such
magnificence and finery like
Toy marbles for children with
kaleidoscopic eyes trapped
inside to play with
And on a even grander scale
Windscreens aboard a shuttle
rocket so astronauts can see
and plot safe passages ahead
To clouded frosted mystical
crystal ball's so fortune teller
Can relay to all of us what
danger lies ahead in all ours
future's
When alas rather instead we
choose to waste our time
burying our heads in said sand
Than making far better
use of whatsover time we
find ourselves having
being lucky enough to
be blessed with
Like proving something
as dank and dark as sand
Can with a minimum amount
of effort and a little help
eventually become
Something as transparent
and far more beautiful
As a crystal chalice exuding
the colour of a rainbow
Categories:
windscreens, slam,
Form: Free verse
Winter fast approaching, snow already for some a threat.
A few consider snow a treat, at least from behind windows,
Where fires burn, warmth indoors is thermostatically set.
Cold, frosty mornings, the sun melts ice where it shows.
Sounds of these days many, but one a nasty scraping.
A few consider snow a treat, at least from behind windows.
If there is a chance there will be some snowman making.
Car windScreens scraped allowing drivers to see roads.
Sounds of these days many, but one a nasty scraping.
Frost moved from windows and many roads in loads.
Making vision clear and most roads safe to drive on.
Car windscreens scraped allowing drivers to see roads.
Accidents few and far between, meaning no diversion.
Pedestrians, for them, sidewalks, pavements all salted.
Making vision clear and roads, well most, safe to drive on.
Shops, malls, flashing coloured signs, eyes light assaulted.
Winter fast approaching, snow already for some a threat.
Santa Clause, letter post requests, now online consulted.
Where fires burn, warmth indoors is thermostatically set.
Categories:
windscreens, snow, winter,
Form: Terzanelle
Jack frost had paid a call,
The morn was all a-glitter.
Icicles dangled from frozen gutters,
The day was cold and bitter.
Greetings of "good morning "
Came from here and there
As the hardy left their houses,
To face the freezing air.
I heard familiar sounds
Echoing around our street,
Neighbours scraping windscreens
And stamping frozen feet.
Clouds of exhaled breath
Rose up to the sky,
As if ghostly, silent steam trains
Were slowly drifting by.
The sound of engines running,
As people warmed their cars.
It was the communal defrost,
Beneath early morning stars.
Categories:
windscreens, community, humorous, people, winter,
Form: Rhyme
The first weakening of night
picks out telephone lines,
black against sky.
The eyelid of a garage door
lurches laboriously up.
A car coughs blue breath.
With aerosols and plastic scrapers
clandestine delights of frostwebs
are raked to chemical sludge.
Starter motors whine.
Windscreens cloud with pain.
Gears grind teeth.
An electric train
gingerly
utters inarticulate from the sheds,
groaning over cold joints.
Thinking grimly
of tunnels ahead,
it flares with ill-humor
crossing the points.
On unworked land beside the track,
a fox is heading home.
Gliding through
beneath the "keep out" sign,
he grins at the engine,
which just judders along,
headlights trained
on parallel lines
which glint ahead,
reflecting lurid signal red,
extending out, but never meeting,
towards the vanishing point.
Categories:
windscreens, society,
Form: Free verse