Autumn is the Season of Fire


Everything burns in autumn,
as nature lets loose
its pyromania.
Searing orange sunsets
light up crimson trees
which drip flaming yellow leaves,
to fuel this seasonal funeral pyre.
In the morning children
happily kick at crackling piles
of ash carpeted on the pavement.
As nature prepares to
take a match to the sagging boughs
they scamper underneath.

Lightning Strike


Your kiss was like a lightning bolt,
knocking me off my feet
blistering my lips
stopping my heart in a millisecond.

As I struggled to rise
I began to smoulder
then eagerly I braced myself
for the thunder.

 

Poetry isn’t Solar Powered


Poetry isn’t solar-powered,
heat induces sweaty apathy
while at their desks poets wilt,
a dry breeze stirring the pages
of an empty notebook.

Ideas have become as barren
as parched lawns.
While under them
locked like a seed
inspiration fails to germinate.

Poetry Meltdown


The sun has melted all of my poetry
Which now drips and runs
into misshapen puddles.

While I contemplate the idea of
reaching for my pen.

Then decide the
sweaty trickle of an idea
isn’t worth the effort today.

Morning has Broken


Pale clouds stretch, trying to dominate the sky they
pull themselves until they are almost insubstantial.
Darker relatives are nudged away retreating
to the horizon, where they
circle like opportunistic sharks.
The wind has yet to stir
so the litter drifts from bins
bursting like old stuffed toys,
to settle and sleep in the gutter.
The sunlight peers out warily like
a shy child, causing puddles
of light to glisten on the pavement.
Early commuters saunter softly
to bus stops, slowly singing along
to iPod shuffles.
They stop to bask in the unexpected sunshine,
like lizards charging their batteries they pause,
work can wait awhile.
Some people say morning has broken,
however I think it’s working just fine.

The Beast from the East Retreats


I wouldn’t say it was cold this weekend but…

The snowman we built demanded to come inside,
Luke Skywalker was found in a dead tauntaun on the drive.
The freezer was the warmest place in the house,
I lived in an electric blanket and refused to go out.
But while I shivered and slowly turned blue here’s the thing,
I was reliably informed that it’s nearly Spring !

I hope so.

Seasons


There’s a hush in the wood,
As nature settles down.
Bracing against wind and rain
While winter comes around.

Then green fades to brown,
That succumbs to white.
Frost decorates the trees,
As winter’s jaws bite.

Scorchio


I slowly peel my body from the bus seat,
Like sticky, sweaty, sellotape.
My once icy bottle of water,
Starts to boil then evaporate.
My ice cream dribbles down my hand,
My flake seems limp and dead.
As the sun shines down mercilessly,
Burning the bald spot on top of my head.

Summer Smile


summer sun

You smiled at me in the summer,
I remember the warmth of your look.
Passion it seemed was in bloom,
As my heart you took.

You smiled at me in the autumn,
A look that blew me away.
Part of me seemed to wither,
My heart started to decay.

You smiled at me in the winter,
A harsh look that wouldn’t yield.
Your cold snap seized me,
My heart with ice was filled.

You smiled at me in the spring,
A fresh look blossoming on your face.
Our cycle begins again,
My heart refreshed awakes.

 

 

Big Fat Drops of Rain


Walsall Floods

Big fat drops of rain,
Falling on my brolly again.
Then dripping on to my head,
Before trickling down my legs.

Big fat drops of rain,
Flowing quickly, blocking drains.
Drowning the underpass,
Causing floods in a flash.

Big fat drops of rain,
Signal summer’s here again.
Downpours today and yesterday,
It seems the rain is here to stay.