Hands

Granda’s Shed

Granda's Shed

     Image: Freeimages.com

when Granda comes out of the shed you know

the days he’s been up to mischief, his silk

cravat off centre, knot slipped to the left.

 

he needs three or four steps to steady his

door filling frame. then he locks you with those

wide blue eyes, puts his finger to his mouth

 

and whispers, “don’t tell your nan.” the cravat, he

told me, reminds him to enjoy the light

on days he is not on his hands and knees

 

being swallowed by the earth. his balance

regained, he pats my head with hands which have

“knocked a few blocks off”, chuntering aloud,

 

“the mine will never get you my boy”

 

“the mine will never get you.”

 

© Davy D 2017

Poetic Motivations:69

Poetic Motivations-69

Punting

Punting

Chasing Butterflies

Chasing Butterflies

An array of Cabbage White and
Red Admiral bask on lavender,
Teasing a pen to paper.

Cupped hands chase air – the
Butterfly nurtured to move
Beyond arms reach, leaving
A brain derelict for description.

Exhausted,
All that’s left
Are vague shadows and
Scribbles on a half empty page.

© Davy D 2017

Lost Summer

lost-summer