A Mother’s Love

A lofty mist rising, softening the world’s glare,
Easy on the eye and creating the smoothest colours,
So much readier to accommodate this cushioned version of life.
Like moonlight on the land rounding all the edges and
Smudging the dividing line between a form and its shadow.
The slow ascent and stealthy diffusion of gossamer haze,
The growing of pastels into brighter, warmer shades,
Colder, deeper tones for the mind to get accustomed
To the satiated hues life dots, sweeps, swirls, strokes
And flourishes all around you…

© jsmorgane (June 2014)

Red Clay

Twenty little fingers soiled,
Before we even started with
Sending drops of glass
Towards their destination.

You dug a hole just big enough
To press your little fist
Snug into the ground.
Just like dry blood, you said.
I told you not to mind the red clay
Stuck behind your fingernails.

I scrapped it off, the clay,
And washed it off my hands,
And rinsed my fingers cold,
And look at pearly crescents gleaming.
And I see blood soaked hands,
And never mind the red clay now.

© jsmorgane (Nov 2004)