In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Wall to Wall.”
Purchased in Africa
This painting inspired me
To create a sanctuary
Of peace and serenity
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Wall to Wall.”
Purchased in Africa
This painting inspired me
To create a sanctuary
Of peace and serenity
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/cupids-arrow/
Oh how I do love the sheer beauty
Of thy sweet harmonius singing
Each day welcoming me gently awake
Thy songs sounding in melodious
Harmony filling my awakening senses
With the peaceful serenity of the
Joy of hearing the essence of thy
Beautiful being. Oh! Dear bird.
I watch from afar as thou weavest
Thy nest, one thin thread at a time
With absolute precision of the finest
Toolmaker that ever lived, mastery
In all its perfection, weaving in and
Weaving out, creating thy home from
From nothing but nature’s ware and
Thy finest talents. Oh! Dear bird.
With patience unending, for when thy
Wife is summonsed to inspect and
Ruthlessly tears apart the nest
Oh how I my heart breaks for thee
And I watch as thou wouldst take
Another twig, from the dawning of the
Day till the setting of the daily sun
Thread by thread. Oh! Dear bird.
And finally when thy home is built
And eggs are laid, I watch in awe as
Thy family is raised, always caring
Always busy, filling nature’s need
Nature’s worker, Elegant, golden bird
And when thou would rest, when there
Are spare moments to admire thy
Beauty, I catch my breath. Oh! Dear bird.
The magnificence of thy golden chest
As it takes each breath to form
Magical notes leaves me breath-
Less, my heart is in awe of thy
Starkness, perfected feathered wings
Opening to take flight as thou wouldst
Leave thy home and fly away venturing
Forth into the world. Oh! Dear bird.
In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: “Symmetry.”
Sunshine symmetry
Streams through
Stained windows
I lift my eyes
To glory above
The best thing since sliced
Bread is a bread maker to
Bake fresh home-baked loaves
I felt the distance in my heart
The year my son turned seven
And my daughter became four
When so many countries united
To blast their sounding vuvuzelas
While the teams ran onto the field –
Running onto the land of my birth
With sadness, I watched from afar
Words flow from my heart
Like water from an open tap
And as they flow they smooth
The stones, continually massaging
Into pebbles so fine, I don’t want
The tap of words to close in on me
For without my words, where would my
Relief be found then?
I am so proud of my son
I am proud of the man he is growing up to become
I am proud of the respect he has when speaking to his mum
For his strength of character
And his words of wisdom
I love him –
My son, my firstborn, my prince