skulking in the dark
at the edge of consciousness
some forgotten thing
skulking in the dark
at the edge of consciousness
some forgotten thing
how welcome the dawn
routing the darkest shadows
of a sleepless night
a halted journey
winter’s sorrowful tears fall
water on the track
deep concentration
he sets out panels, nuts, bolts
all in their right place
with time on his hands
he builds an old iron train
for his next journey
an old photograph
of our long departed cat
sniffing a flower
first light this morning
flows in like molten silver
a distant bell chimes
Sky modestly stoops
screened behind a veil of mist
gives Earth a soft kiss
the dry reservoir
filled again from winter rain
but what of the fish
those little habits
a thumb rubbing a finger
seasons rolling on
I dream so I write ..
“Wings are an illusive notion. Some may possess them, but they are not very visible, and as for me, there isn’t the least sign of a feather.” -Amy Carmichael
New Ideas, New Forms
Musings from an insignificant writer
14 hectares of thrills, spills and fun!
A Journal of Poetic Observations
Pictures and Poetry, Picture Poetry
My Journey on the Lonely Road to Deaf Acceptance
Ellen Grace Olinger