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Lorraine Ferns Poem
The red kite
flowing, blowing, gliding
soaring
red and pulsating
in the wind
playing, cradling, cascading
then
the wind takes it
sometimes
down
sometimes
headlong
ready to collide
at other times
upward
like a crimson, soaring bird
floating on air
triangle wings racing
not wanting to stop.
Copyright © Lorraine Ferns | Year Posted 2012
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Lorraine Ferns Poem
books, all in row - squeezed
together; like on the bus
different stories
Copyright © Lorraine Ferns | Year Posted 2017
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Lorraine Ferns Poem
city - day
bustle, exhaust, fumes
moving on...
Copyright © Lorraine Ferns | Year Posted 2013
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Lorraine Ferns Poem
the stairwell so steep
the lights are dimmed; so dark
it's a hard climb
Copyright © Lorraine Ferns | Year Posted 2013
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Lorraine Ferns Poem
your eyes enlighten
dance, dancing with the sunlight
how you smile…..always
Copyright © Lorraine Ferns | Year Posted 2012
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Lorraine Ferns Poem
liquid quick, he moves
so fast, his tongue a dart, the
lizard finds refuge.
Copyright © Lorraine Ferns | Year Posted 2013
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Lorraine Ferns Poem
juxtapose, so long
winded to say – it means? You
and me side by side?
Copyright © Lorraine Ferns | Year Posted 2014
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Lorraine Ferns Poem
sitting on a bough
singing his song of romance
the mockingbird calls
Copyright © Lorraine Ferns | Year Posted 2013
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Lorraine Ferns Poem
the band is playing
thumping bass, packed forum; but
loneliness grips here…
Copyright © Lorraine Ferns | Year Posted 2013
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Lorraine Ferns Poem
He chips, he adds, he prolongs,
the dust from years past
blows away, blows into the nether
world of reality. Reality is! Everything
must go through the decaying and, slow aging
process. It catches up with us all!
As I look into the mirror - another line;
another truth, etches its way onto my flesh
my slowly decaying flesh of life.
He has to chip slowly at the wall
It is delicate! Must be handled with -
extreme care. The dust catches his breath
he coughs, then stops and surveys his work
I stay a while checking my skin
my reflection now making me sigh.
Whatever? I check my teeth. Shrug
and then just brush the moments, the
thoughts away, but I never get it all
Not with just a brush!
He uses a mortar and pestle
and a special, delicate kind of brush.
His day is over – my life goes on
as usual!
Copyright © Lorraine Ferns | Year Posted 2014
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