These long summer days
wait by drowsy trees,
an empty lane, a signpost
which points towards low clouds
and a livid purple sky.

I can’t breathe
while the storm vibrates this way –
a sky on fire,
shapes and silhouettes
in the lightning flash,
shadows beating against the rain.

Then a sudden break in the clouds –
a swallow dips and dives, spins
a pirouette –
and a heart which feels so light
you think it must belong to someone else.
So much lost. So much yet to gain.



@Louise Hastings 2014



The poem I start to write
wants to breathe
between the rhythm
of my heartbeats
and the fabric of the sky.

I rest my body in the space
left by these dissolving walls
and hear his voice
echo across the miles
like a kinesia of geese,
the vee
shaped by light and dark.

I am no analyst
of the night
but what might seem
so wingless
flies over oceans
and has a gravity all its own.


@Louise Hastings 2014




Short the days are.
And years pass like the leaves –
copper, amber, cherry-tipped,
soft kisses of goodbye.
Nightfall brings out pleiades
and trees left bare
boughs open to the stars,
shimmer in the music
to a symphony of wild geese.
The fighting is over now
and in the silence the deer
nuzzle along the ground
seeped with winter’s frost
as if the answers lay
beneath its icy heart.



Copyright @2013 Louise Hastings

Lost in Blue


That moment of waking,
deserted streets, a pale
washed out sky, a woman
out alone, her footsteps tip tapping
along the bridge, a rushing
whoosh, a train thundering by
and a town like any other,
the dawn opaque, the woman, me.

The wind blows colder
and she isn’t lost, just half-dreaming
as morning shadows
fall across the kerbs and side streets –
a gust of wind, a bird taking flight,
then a break in the clouds. sunlight on glass
and the night forgotten,
the backdrop timed to her pulse.



©2013 Louise Hastings