By The Poet Mj ©
September
I’m awake from grief
like this first month of springtime.
Shards of soft lighting
and I reflect deeply on –
no one, goes on forever.
August
One month of this grief.
Coupled with the chilled winter.
Go winter, just go…
Storm clouds on the horizon.
Shedding their tears on us all.
July
My friend has gone, died.
This winter seems more chilly
then the last one was.
This my grief’s imagings.
I don’t know or seem to care.
June
The last rose is picked.
The vase with the single rose,
pink petal colours
has shed its petals on my
table, in a winter’s death.
May
At last the rains fall.
The dust in my pony’s yard
quelled and grass springs up,
at last the drought is broken
by heavy, May, autumn rains.
April
No rain yet, tanks low.
Climate change is beginning
to affect seasons
and predictability
of defined, certain seasons.
March
Fire season dragging
on and on, until I lapse
into lazy mode
that a bushfire will not come
this way and burn our snug home.
February
Smoke on horizon,
radio tuned to updates,
a distance grass fire
down wind of me, to the south.
Let’s hope, no wind changes come.
January
Resting at the beach.
Tanning my white skin to crisp.
Sand between my toes.
Sand down my bikini top,
washing it away in waves.
