Defensive

I thought he was quite handsome,
fluttering back and forth importantly,
showing off those vibrant colours
on his tiny, fragile wings.

So endearing when he started
following me around. I wondered
if it was my perfume which
deliciously smells like summer.

He never left my side, even after
I went back inside, he just
settled in a safe distance and
stared at me in a pensive manner.

‘Look at you’ he said all of a sudden.
‘You’ve become boring. All earnest and
always busy. Where did your smile go,
and what happened to your soul?’

And I got a little defensive, not sure
if I still liked that cheeky rascal.
I really have no time for this when life
is pushing me this way and that.

After all, he is just a butterfly.
What does he know about
responsibilities?

 

© november child

photo credit: Neil Halin via Flickr

Distant

Whispers in the Willow Tree

 

She is difficult that one,
snapping at me
more than once
if I just run by without
properly admiring
her beauty, and how
prettily her radiating canopy
overlaps the bank.

She always urges me
to sit on the grass, relax,
enjoy the scent of her, and
of her lake. I can’t bring myself
to tell her the water smells
quite brackish, so
I just take shallow breaths,
and hope she will not notice.

She is quite proud
of the cracks in her bark,
(beauty marks she calls them),
and her spot by the lake
she has defended
for many years,
though I think she
hates the cold season
when she has to shed
her leaves, vain little thing.

She likes to flaunt
her graceful limbs
to emphasise her stories.
I know she fibs,
what with remembering
knights and the ring
of their horse’s shoes
on cobblestone pavement,
but who am I to judge?

 

© november child

photo credit: Roberto Verzo via Flickr

in response to The Sunday Whirl Wordle 301

Mindlovermisery’s Menagerie Writing Prompt #209 “It’s All in the Title”

Radiate

Clouds

I am a master at clouds,
such a nice fabric to work with.
Of course, this art is little
appreciated, an empty
blue sky widely favoured.
I am afraid, humans lack
the refinement to process
true beauty.

Just look up, look at the sky, I think I
have outdone myself once again.
Only No. 9 is a bit out of alignment.
Always the rebel, a problem child,
too often adrift, stubbornly
bending this way and that, forever
out of shape, trying to take over
the sky,  and constantly demanding
the extra effort which can be
quite exasperating.

 

© november child

photo credit: James Stutzman via Flickr

Adrift

Sunrise

I still glow in shades of rose and gold
in the aftermath of a gorgeous sunrise
that slowly but surely crept under my skin
while I watched Sol seize control of the day.

And while today I proudly wear my new
daytime skin, tonight as Sol descends
I will shed it in favour of cobalt and flashes of silver
and pay tribute to Mani on her lonely ride.

© november child

photo credit: Aristocrats-hats via Flickr

Descend

Waiting

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

 

From a golden carpet
of fallen leaves
dark, gnarly silhouettes
reach for a sombre sky.
Devoid of their
majestic summer aspects
their beauty is of the darker kind.

The world seems smaller
as grey clouds gather
like wads of smoke
to form a low dense cover.
Heralds of winter’s approach
they carry the crisp, clean scent of snow.

And in concert with nature
we move at a slower pace,
holding our breath while we wait;
keeping in mind
spring’s promise of
transformation and rebirth.

© november child

photo credit: Wikimedia Commons

Smoke

Transformation