Thursday, 18 May 2017

the prickly bugaboo's – a rubaiyat

(click on image to enlarge)

bird chirps in the waking shushed 
break of dawn’s soft kindled blush … 
I think: I hear the pulse of rain, 
or is it heartbeats in the hush

the prickly bugaboos still keep 
their dozy doze beyond the deep – 
beyond the shores of slumber where 
air somersaults in breaths of sleep

I think: I’ll wend down winding trail
wreathed in bough and leafy veil 
and lift my face to forest sky 
spellbound in aves soar and sail

the prickly bugaboos will stay 
far from this light-as-feathers day 
they do not come where I find peace,
well, rested high above the fray

note:  bugaboo (Merriam-Webster)  1. an imaginary object of fear. 2. something that causes fear or distress out of proportion to its importance. 

TankArt Piece – W. Bourke
  
© 2017 Wendy Bourke

Thursday, 11 May 2017

this place in our life

this place in our life
sighs with contentment,
whenever soft music is played …
and flinches, holding its breath,
each time car brakes squeal
in the busy street beyond

on a good day … whiffle breezes
waft through open windows –
on sleepless nights … gaseous gurgles
ripple from the ancient refrigerator

occasionally, the place groans under the weight
of all our stuff – mine far more than his –
sometimes … it is just the heat ‘kickin’ in’
but other times … it’s a bonafide groan

this place in our life
is adorned with grocery flowers,
miscellaneous tchotchkes,
pictures of dearly beloveds, books, gadgets
and a whopping pile of mail that comes to us,
unbidden – and waits – often for months,
to be blinked upon and tossed

sometimes the place smells of patchouli
sometimes it smells of lemons ... in fact,
a plethitude of aromas and fragrances drift in and out,
though – all of them – smell like home 

two commodious sofas – face each other
and here we sit, reading and writing and watching PBS, 
sipping wine, water or root beer and noshing down appies
when we get to feeling peckish
  
from time to time, a line of poetry or prose
or an image from the TV set
conjures forth a lovely memory
of other places in our life
– many years and many places – 
and chit-chat blurts of nostalgia burst
like daisy blooms time lapsing round us

with a bit of luck and ingenuity,
this will be our last place –
the place from which, we can look back
on the journey we took, to get to
this place in our life

photo:  This place in our life - W. Bourke
  
© 2017 Wendy Bourke