Soul Mountain

Books

What the water gave me –

the sense of an ending,

witch light,

wild geese,

astonishing splashes of colour,

butterfly summer –

The earth hums in B flat.

 

 

Written in response to dVersepoets Form for All prompt: The Hidden Poetry in Books ūüôā

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Sensory Perception

Photo credit: Louise Hastings ~ Dragon in Glastonbury

There is a dragon
perching on a rock,
holding out his wings
to the wind
that sweeps across the bay.
I can see his pale
translucent skin,
his eyes caught by the light
thrown from the sun
and while we speak
of legends, fire and storms,
he bows his head to mine,
listens gravely as I talk.
Or so it seems –
a sensory perception
as real as you or I.

 

 

© 2012 Louise Hastings

Somewhere Unknown

Dusk has fallen. She takes the first touch
of a book, opening to breathe in its scent,

fingering through pages, letters bleeding
across paper, words wrapped round her tongue.

There is ink and blood and she is bound
between its covers, captured within images

that lay huddled by the yellow lamp. Outside
the room, bat wings catch the moonlight.

An owl cries. She’s settling for the night,
hunger fed until dawn glances

through the forest skyline, stepping
from this world to the next still crouched

in her dreaming mind, with a poem
lifting off to somewhere unknown.

by Louise

This poem has also been recorded by the wonderful Abigail @The_Linnet and can be heard here

Written for dVersePoets Open Link Night (it’s Tuesday again already!) ~ hosted by the wonderful poet Claudia Schoenfeld

The Days of the Sea

They come each year in summer,
crowds jostling for space
on soft sandy beaches, liberated
to taste the salty tang of fresh sea air.
A wave-break sweeps away
their weariness of life; the shape
of freedom unfolding
in the slackness of their limbs.
Peace returns again at dusk
as the last of the  tourists leave.
Every moment changes
like passing clouds in orange skies.
There is a restlessness in me
as the sun slowly dips beneath the surface.
I watch as white birds circle the vastness
of the¬†open¬†wide ‘out there’.
The elusiveness of words are wrapped
in a longing I cannot explain.

 

by Louise

Cryptic dreamer

There is something out there
an echo on the airwaves
from the birds sitting
on the telephone wires.
I hear it in my head thrumming low,
sleepless again on a warm night in June.
Waves crash against the harbour,
over streets and up windy lanes.
Just another cryptic dreamer
lost to the sand dunes in the mind.
But it could be the only thing you’ll
think of, the only thing you’ll know.

 

by Louise

Linking up with the new dversepoets pub today! Make mine a double.. ūüėČ