Look At What I Caught Today

Solitude

solitude
vital for rustling up
a tall tale

Purple Rippling Fields

Behold the purple rippling fields
beneath the cresting sleepy sun.
The thistles with their spiny shields
are set to make their rivals run.

The thistledown like snow well-spun
traverse the skies to hug road kerbs.
Some flourish there while others shun;
to them, the toxic smog disturbs.

A noxious weed in some suburbs
and hunted down like animals,
in others they’re revered as herbs
and put on sale in carnivals.

It does not matter if you hate
the thistle or appreciate.

Cold Cracked Wall

Neglect
is a cold cracked wall
with peeling paint
tucked in a corner
where the sun doesn’t shine.

Memories
are the flowers
along the wall
left behind to languish
when you move on

Nostalgia
is the wistful desire to return
to repair and repaint that wall
and cultivate those flowers.

Crocuses in spring

Pic by letnotyourheartbetroubled



I gaze upon the naked tree
with branches bare for all to see.
It’s waiting for the birds to sing
which shall announce the birth of spring.


The crocuses beneath the ground
are praying for the patter sound
of rain before they take a chance
to creep upstairs and take a glance.


Delighted by the wondrous sight
of clear blue skies and geese in flight;
of gurgling streams that lazily flow
and gentle whirlwinds when the winds blow.


They then put on their Sunday best
to take part in the joyful fest;
the crocuses dance, pout and tease
like colourful flags in the breeze.


Their antics rouse the buds to burst
and grass to green in little spurts;
renewed and ready to have fun
beneath the gracious, smiling sun.

Dusk by the beach

Etched in my memory are shadows from the past.
Regret cannot chase them away.

Butterfly

Enticed by the bright city lights,
a butterfly quietly flits;
one of the more colourful sights
that throng the dark but vibrant streets.

She flutters about red lanterns
with a fine shamisen in tow;
she plays in teahouses and taverns
pausing only to take a bow.

The bright hues of her kimono
fill up the emptiness of night;
gay and chatty, she seems to know
how to raise her tipsy clients’ delight.

Regretfully, when daylight breaks
in this Land Of The Rising Sun,
the sleepy butterfly slowly makes
her way back to the cocoon she spun.