Haiku: Not Worthy?

so I’m not worthy
they say my world’s come, and gone
while I breath – it’s mine

Copyright Francis 2022

Untitled #1

I first encountered you in ceilings,
in wallpaper patterns, their imagined shapes;
lying on beds with open books, with time,
with The Planets Suite as background.

You, who watched erstwhile friends
playing and laughing, cycling madly
along lanes of cow parsley and smoke,
through an old peeling window frame.

You are the same person still — alone;
free, yet unheard and misunderstood,
unwilling to think, or bend like the rest,

still staring but from double glazed glass,
thoughts blowing among trees,
within the space of this room

Copyright Francis 2021

Haiku: Summer Yearning

Long ago summers
Fresh fragrances of our youth
Swards of innocence

Copyright Francis 2021

Haiku: Perspective

grayscale photo of old pictures — Photo by Suzy Hazelwood on Pexels.com

Tag: youth

Haiku: Not Worthy?

Untitled #1

Haiku: Summer Yearning

Haiku: Perspective

Rose tinted glasses
Our youth defines all we are
Where we want to be

Poem: The Garth

The accolades like garlands
all around you,
each flower of the palette
in your soul

I saw suns glint in violet eyes,
such rare colour,
your rose petal smiles
on dew laden sward

You drew me pastel people,
tore them to pieces,
casting high like confetti
in a lavender breeze

Your delicate hand would
demand I take it,
frog march me around
your patchwork garth

We’d sit in white stillness
at Indian summer’s end,
our toes dangling in pools
of murky green

And when the grey winds came
soughing demons around us,
you closed that rickety gate
toward Michaelmastide.

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Rose tinted glasses Our youth defines all we are Where we want to be

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The accolades like garlands all around you, each flower of the palette in your soul

I saw suns glint in violet eyes, such rare colour, your rose petal smiles on dew laden sward

You drew me pastel people, tore them to pieces, casting high like confetti in a lavender breeze

Your delicate hand would demand I take it, frog march me around your patchwork garth

We’d sit in white stillness at Indian summer’s end, our toes dangling in pools of murky green

And when the grey winds came soughing demons around us, you closed that rickety gate toward Michaelmastide.

Rate this:

Share this:

Like this:

Rose tinted glasses
Our youth defines all we are
Where we want to be

The accolades like garlands
all around you,
each flower of the palette
in your soul

I saw suns glint in violet eyes,
such rare colour,
your rose petal smiles
on dew laden sward

You drew me pastel people,
tore them to pieces,
casting high like confetti
in a lavender breeze

Your delicate hand would
demand I take it,
frog march me around
your patchwork garth

We’d sit in white stillness
at Indian summer’s end,
our toes dangling in pools
of murky green

And when the grey winds came
soughing demons around us,
you closed that rickety gate
toward Michaelmastide.