There is no mistaking you,
Standing poised by the jeep, surrounded by fractured light
as the sun bounces off metal and glass,
Your head thrown back, emitting sounds, that I cannot hear,
Although I am imagining, the infectious
booming laughter, rolling from your lips.
As I move closer, you shift, showing
a chistled profile, under the blue baseball cap,
The chunky solidity of your form in shorts and blue shirt,
legs planted apart the golfers stance even at ease.
I walk quietly towards you, but some sixth sense,
Causes you to turn,and I am caught
mesmerised. By the brightness if your gaze,
Those glorious grey eyes flecked with gold
Dominant your tanned face. Drawing me into your world,
I see the colours, the colours of the African day,
Reflected in the honey toned clarity of your skin,
The vividness of your eyes, the silver of the
stubble glinting on your chin, the crows feet
wrinkles, mirroring the drought parched land.
Firm lips. Corners kinked into the hint of a smile,
Open, to speak words in accentless English,
Always a suprise given your antecedents,
There is a hint of croaky gravelliness in your diction,
Some harshness evident, registering impatience.
You turn back, then lope off with long strides, lithe as a big cat,
Your controlled movements, denote a man of action,
How can you be defined?
Your charm, friends, words, the books you read, the inner man?
Your impatience, impetuousness.
All set upon a background of the African sky.
Have you tried a Jeffrey’s sonnet?
The weekend challenge on the Facebook group Rising Moon Poetry was to write one.
Here is the winning entry
REVENGE (Jeffreys Sonnet)
His perfidy, did not make sense
He had not any good defense
Would she forgive? Now, on his knees
A woman knows when all’s been said
Not all prevails, some feelings dead
And yet, his groveling – does please!
Though, she agrees yet, on a whim
She’ll not forget, forgive – not him
The bed he’s made, not fit to lie
Stirred deep within her bitter soul
A rage that she’ll not ne’er control
It seems someone might have to die!
He might could cry, to live – his goal
He’ll pay the toll, and even lie
Oh, he’ll not e’er forget this night
Betrayal won’t sit well despite
Attempts to reconcile the wrong
The laugh inside as she strikes out
Will leave no room for him to doubt
This err wont fade, ‘twill carry on
And he alone, beneath the skies
So vulnerable and none-the-wise
Iniquity did not serve well
Perhaps he should pick up and run
The malice through the air’s been spun
His pardon begged did surely fail
She’s cast her spell – he just should go
But, he’ll not know – nor – ever tell!
© 2018 RubyPond All rights reserved
Starting a new chapter
New period of rapture
Tick all the boxes
Expecting lots of validation
Throw out procrastination
Putting aside old wrongs
Clean sheet being strong
Damp down expectations
Waiting for adventure, to hatch
© Samantha Beardon
I drink the view
I trace your mouth
The essence of you
I gaze in your eyes
Drown in their pools
My emotions stretched
Your hot breath
Grazes my cheek
I take a step closer
Feel so weak
Meshes with mine
Safe in your arms
In our special time.
Samantha Beardon ©
Clouds are building and tinted opalescent
The sky is pinky golden orange bathed
The sun drops from the sky into the sea
As it hangs it radiates a light stripe
Across the coloured water a path
I stand on the darkening sand awe struck
Should I tread that path or sit by the boat
I listen to the gentle lap of waves
Pebbles rattling as they are disturbed
Perpetual motion the sea progresses
I sit resting my back against the boat
It still feels warm a comfort an anchor
A solo palm tree my companion
Sharing the vista the tranquility
I jump at an intrusive noise a beep
Reluctantly I open my eyes
I stretch and look at an office desk
Piled high with files pens and paperwork
Relaxation over I tackle work
They heard a cracked wheezing and scraping
as she practiced her chords on the violin
Slow speed amplified the noises and screeches
The wipers wheezed as they tried to shift
The snow from the windscreen as it fell
In increasing amounts clogging the mechanism
She had an idea a fun plan
It would cause some havoc
But her friends would get the gag….wheeze
Drawing breath was hard
Between every phrase the lungs wheezed
Like broken bellows
Every laboured breath caused
The musical sounds of the
Samantha Beardon ©
Do you know how to tell a good poem from a bad one? It’s easy. I can teach you.
Just crumple up a sheet of paper and throw it into the bin in the far corner. The bad poem never reaches it. It will always drop somewhere halfway, rebounding off the rim then rolling beneath your sofa. Argh! And there you go, swearing, to pick it up and toss it in from a little closer.
But the good poem always makes it. Hell… now you’re groaning and you have to go over to the bin to retrieve it. But, did you know… you can choose to forget it instead. Just leave it in the bin. Don’t worry. The really good poem will never leave your head. I should know. I’ve checked.
by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2016