Know Which Way the Wind Blows

Photo by Louise Hastings

Photo by Louise Hastings

That summer was one of storms,
electric blue on glass, voices
which turned to silence, black and white.
I stood awake drawn to the deeper thrum,
the darker light – which is not its absence,
but the moonshine off the surface of the sea.

A waking dream perhaps, of sun on leaf,
on purple flower, sun on the backs
of children playing on the sandy shore.
A bee drifts by, hangs in the heavy air
and what I feel here lasts a lifetime,
the sea and sun, the sky full of birdsong.

In the blue along the horizon, a cry
from a seabird carries on the wind,
and with its call and the drone of the bee
still in my ear, I hear its note, its music
somehow blurred, somehow dimmed
and the heart it breaks is mine.

 

 

© Louise Hastings 2013

Empty Pockets

Little by little we glide

on words unsaid,

inhale the air of Indian summer,

nudge our toes towards desire,

leafy, languid heat.

In the stillness

beyond the golden haze,

the verdant greens

and cyan sky

sparkle by the riverside.

My breath,

the gentle zephyr breeze,

my pockets, empty, light.

 

© 2012 Louise Hastings

One Summer (in England)

Copyright: James Rainsford, Used with Permission

A sudden rainbow across heavy skies
brings rare sunshine and fleeting light on water.
I throw off the winter cold and bare pale skin
to the sun, paint myself anew with colours
fresh and bright. The days go by
like a smile on an empty face
and I ripen in the sunshine
beneath an oozing, soft green light,
tangling serotonin in my hair,
lemon-blossom from the meadow at my feet.
But a shadow drags behind me
whenever the weather breaks.
Steady rain lashes at the window,
splashes city parks and dead end streets,
trickles down my neck and pools around my wrists.
As the darkness spreads there’s not much of me left.
I run towards the fragile, summer sun.

 

 

©2012 Louise Hastings

Written for the wonderful prompt at dVersepoets Poetics ~ Patterns, Pictures and Poems hosted by James Rainsford

Blue

Flashing colour of a bird,
as blue it seems
as the azure sky of the summer.

The last summer,
where I saw you before
languidly sleeping.

One more day
the last day so blue,
blue as the river

Dreamily, I watch
He lives in me, to die
Love, I see you

So blue.