LatinosUSA

LEAVE OUT

A scattering of firm fresh leaves
on branch and bough’s bedraggled scaffolding,
in the first days of recognisable spring,
does, in its sunny kiss, convey
a rising from the ashes,

though there’s still the pang of sadness,
upon anniversaries,
that they’ll never come round again,
a feeling of dread that it will end,
not the cycle of regeneration,
Nature decking itself out into overdressed swagger,
but, as the years pass,

I will not, in its leaves and green,
see in each new year my own survival,
I, eventually, will be left out.

~~

WAS

In a carriage,
the latest in incremental design
and ratcheted-up speed,
rattling over pockmarked roads,
he rushes home as fast as you could
then,
bumped from side to side
in his knee breeches
and fine fripperies of white lace,
pictures his daughter’s wide eyes glisten
as he hands her birthday-toy to her,
wishes a painter
could frame that moment
for all time.

~~

CUSHION

A green cushion.
The green cover is soft and faded,
yellowing.
Cushion itself is firm. Still not flattened by
age. When it gets rumpled and askew
I punch it back into shape.
If I sit beside it,
I fondle its curved hardness,
like a memory.
The hint of yellowness is comforting, though.
There is perspective.

~~

SPRING IS A BREEZE

The coldish breeze spoils the day’s sun,
blows seed and blossom to drift down and get in my eyes,
scatters the urge to sit on a bench in the park,
jacket closed tight, shirt buttoned, to read the paper.
A girl sunbathing on the grass in a bikini
merits a second glance, to ascertain her sanity.
The trees are being given a buffeting,
a bit of rude slap ‘n tickle,
as I sit in the car in reflected heat,
cosily shone on.

~~

SEASONAL

I don’t mind the winter.

Tramping on dissolving leaves
on oily paths.
The sun, so weak and
beautiful, when it comes,
without warmth, but shining
on me.
I don’t mind it at all.

I like the spring when it returns,
and love the summer when it comes,
but I don’t fear the winter.
I don’t fear its coming
for, for now,
it only comes to go.