Woman in water
A woman lies on water
in suspended animation,
bubbles of breath blow,
the sea her bed now.
her white clothes stream,
arms and feet relaxed,
headrest water’s brow.
She treads as though
gravity does not exist,
fingers caress cool flow.
the forgetting here is slow,
life on an even keel
where the trees hum silent.
Image: woman in water by Toni Frissell. On Vintagephotoarchive.
We recollect our
barefoot wand’rings in the park,
dew cool on dawn grass.
A meditation.
We are silence. We are still.
Our bodies at rest.
The old man searches
for something lost, something found.
All the same these days.
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, June 5, 2021
Light
curves, moonlight hears.
A bat flits
in the silence
of dusk.
Unheard. Still.
The sea
flickers out,
collects
silver light and ebbs,
clear fingers
glitter.
The mind here, unspun,
leaves fall on a spirited
path. There are no eyes.
Thin black cat
slinks out,
makes a
space on highest wall,
surveys his
kingdom.
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, June 4, 2021
This one is about mushrooms pushing up through the soil.
Make room
mushrooms
plague soil to rise,
unstifled
and forever promising
never to
sleep during night’s play.
We are as
monks full captured,
quiet and
forlorn in our hideaway,
a bid to
scuttle the earth sideways
and wrestle
the sun for ourselves.
But this is
dusk, daylight scattered
and with it
our deepest yearnings,
for an
existential moon gaze
is what
this twilight will bring us.
This one is about the countryside. Just a meadow of wildflowers. Could be anywhere.
Lemon heads
tall and sticklike, full stretched.
Trees bulbous as round clouds
tend to roll across the landscape,
shadows cast long, distintegrating
in a dry run across the green tops.
They blow in the stopped air,
white pixel flower beads scattering.
Tall trees stride in the backdrop
where the skies roll hearkening,
bidding us step into the centre
of all things, buttercups sunning.
This one was written for JD Mader's 2minutesgo writing exercise on his website Unemployed Imagination. Head over there every weekend to write, read, or comment, or all of them! This one is about a tree. Cheers :)
Tree
It boughs
over peacefulness,
water
caught without a drift.
No ripples
disturb the surface,
only sound
without movement.
Songs of birds
spill over boughs
curling in
a half-circle arch;
they cast
reflections in the scope,
sketches of
wings and feathers.
This tree stretches
due north.
It moves
like a dancer, poised,
almost
skeletal black against light,
its fingers
twisting the chill air.
Beyond, the
white clouds pirouette,
drawing lines
before dusk blows in.
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, May 28, 2021
I once read a news story about a guy who went around the world on his bike, from London and back. So this poem is inspired by that.
Journey’s end
unpunctured but exhausted
upon its final destination,
the round-trip end, a relative
safety. Chained to the metal.
It will take but a moment
to unlock it, remove a wheel,
leave a frame bereft of saddle,
the only reminder of itself
and the journey it has lapped,
from London to Europe to Asia,
always arriving in one piece.
This one is about a pier cutting across the water, disappearing into the distance. It could be anywhere.
The pier
carves the
water in a zigzag
crawl between
dusk’s brow.
It scutters
into the airwaves,
motionless with
nowhere to fall.
Small fences
mark its depth
in metre
dashes spread along,
small men
waiting in line
to hold up
the sky in thrall.
Clouds blow
left to nether right,
skirting the
silent obscured drift.
Nothing crawls
in the in between,
no sounds except
the cicada’s
notes and
the birds full singing
as the
water breathes against wood.
This one is about the conversations we’d like to have, but for some reason we can’t talk to the person we want to.
Long-distance
Travels long-distance from home,
wishing we could call,
just speak on the phone,
all the things left to say.
Scribbles on endless paper,
words calculated like math;
so many words, many strewn.
How we would like to speak.
Throw one to the wind,
listen for the sound it makes,
these vowels and consonants,
rolled out softly in breath.
This is but a whisper,
a small figment of the whole.
Lost sentences are what we have
when we wish to say it all.
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, May 25, 2021
I wrote this for 2minutesgo on JD Mader’s Unemployed Imagination website. If you are in the mood to write or read other people’s flash fiction and poems, head over to his place. It’s open all weekend for your creative input. See you there! http://www.jdmader.com/2021/05/2-minutes-go_21.html
Inspired by a black-and-white photograph of a tram stopped
in a pool of water.
On reflection
On reflection,
carried in water,
rich vibrations awash
disperse, run curvacious
into tiny streamlets.
The 28 tram rides its
echoed cobbled street,
an upside trip
between two cities.
One man boards,
his other enters too,
with two tickets to go.
The rails slide out,
a sleek watery pass,
tall, tilted buildings
look up and down,
create optical illusions
journeying forward,
water sloshing wheels.
Lights spin a haze.
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, May 23, 2021
