Your song
Moving across my face.
My face falling,
Like crumbling mountains.
And each corn of sand
Dancing like standing stones,
Trembling in shared solitude
To hear your voice.
Like the moon forever kindling,
Casting one blind and one seeing eye.
Like the sea, coming and going,
A mirror pool of reflection,
Where from the deep it grows,
Rippling through the ocean,
Calling water to water,
One salty drop to another,
Gushing forth.
Your song.
© jsmorgane
A mother, the ground to stand upon
A little brother’s fair hair in the sun
A father’s shoulders to climb like a tree
A first song, still remembered
Two adventurers by the river
Sniffing the air full of Indian summer
The worlds behind the words we read
The satisfaction of achievement
The first time being told you are not good enough
A finished painting hung on the wall
The sheer pleasure of a good conversation
The colleague who believed in what comes after
Two kids reminding me of the ease of living
The friend who sees you when no one else does
© jsmorgane (June 2008)
What’s in a box of matches?
A pocket knife about an inch long
A pencil the size of a pin
A piece of red string
Tatters of coloured paper
A pink clip
A lump of wax
The feather of a raven
A lock of fair hair
A hastily scribbled note
The taste of adventure
The smell of summer
My childhood song
© jsmorgane
