Lemon Tree Lane 

 

I’m driving, down lemon tree lane,
A path of potholes and lost souls,
A mix of tarmac and dirt,
Clouds and dust,
Smoke and rocks,
Thick red air robes my throat of breath,
I choke on the dryness of the surrounds,

Matilda waits by the roadside,
Dishevelled and covered in earth,
Hair a mattered mess,
Her journey breaking her to the core,

Entangled by the woods,
Our roads cross,
Join and seal,
We meet at a junction,
In the middle of a field,
Directions misplaced and dazed,
Briefly, our hearts collide,
Yet our roads divide.

I wrote this on a long trip back home. Gazing out the window, at endless fields and dirt terrain. Passing Lemon Tree Lane and Matilda Road. I drew inspiration from my surrounds.

 

Nightingale 


 I’m coming home, in the morning, as the first light of golden rays greets dawn and the song of nightingale sweeps through the air. With hair as fine as silk, in cotton dress, of floral. Her chocolate eyes and creamy thighs, bare in the summer sun. I’ll be home in the morning my love, when the sea’s tide rises and the scent of wood fire burns. I’ll be home darling, await my return.

Cosmic Olive Trees

cottageThe lake lucid, frosty, rugged, serene, reflective, pebbles and gravel converge on the lake-bed. The surrounds seem to a city dweller somewhat philosophical, cosmic olive trees, russet solid trunks line the banks, green grass unfolds, and enduring stone cottages litter the countryside.