Not sure why I took
This shot to start – looking back
I love the Yellow!
In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: “Yellow.”
Category poetry
Vulnerability
Held in mothers hand
Vulnerability in
All its innocence
Fallen Branch
Are we loving the new style? #visualDesign
Hamilton Island
Hamilton Island
In the heart of the
Great Barrier Reef, lies a
Pristine isle of bliss
Yellow Bus
A single bus and then repeat
In a straight line proudly stand
Awaiting their journey’s start
At leisure while in another place
Travelers anxiously strain
For a glimpse of that expected view
Hoping for that splash of yellow
Or maybe today, perhaps, there might be red?
Procrastinating
Just in case you haven’t heard
Enough of carols wherever you may turn
Allow me to share my favorite
Christmas Tune with you
Takes me back to when I was ten
And a Boney M audio cassette did I receive
Along with a red and black walkman player
(Remember them? Anyone?)
I should be working now
This post is me procrastinating
If I do not respond to any comments or likes
It is because my head is buried in
Eclipse, Java and Springframework
Bring on the coffee
Bring on the love
Shoulder massages?
Should I be so lucky?
Burnt Lime Balloon
Reflections
Mirrored in balloons
Of burnt lime
In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: “Twinkle.”
Angel Wings
Angel wings
Take me by surprise
Twinkle bright
In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: “Twinkle.”
Day Job
Time slipping through my fingers
Being released and flying far away
Just as I would lift my eyes to
Watch as a balloon floats
Higher, smaller into the skies
Until it can be seen no more
So does my time fly further from me
Until there is no more left
To do the things I need to do
And all that remains
Are memories of a faded day
(I need to write a software system by Tuesday, and am not very far in progress. I may be offline on the weekend #becausefocus)
Fragile
Flowers offered in peace
To do what flowers do best
Offering comfort
Offering relief
But none is taken
None is found
Because there is no balm
When three young hearts
Farewell their mother
And parents lose their son
New week’s morning transformed into a
Lifetime of mourning
Poems and Petals 