Winter Beach

Restless, the sea foam

flashes quicksilver.

Watching, I long to be a mermaid,

lifting the tangles of my hair

to the keen windrush.

Then the ebb tide

rolls back, long and slow.

The crests of the waves

peak like white wings

of skimming gulls

before the water, far out there,

smooths to transient peace.

Written in response to Poetics: Names of the Rose at dVerse. We are asked to include at least five from a list of rose names. I have used a few more: Restless, Sea Foam, Quicksilver, Mermaid, Tangles, Windrush, Ebb Tide, White Wings, Peace. One option was to make the poem about the approach of Summer, but here in Australia it's Winter that is approaching. I used the memory of a beach I used to live near and loved to walk in Winter. I also loved to photograph it.

Holidaying with Roses

 














Holidaying with Roses

Soft roses
bloomed everywhere
in tiny gardens
every December
when I visited,
filling those little yards
with a froth of colour.

Until this last time.
Already the edges
of the roses everywhere
were singed black
from the fierce heat,
and all the blooms
were visibly smaller.

I used to walk
with my camera,
storing hundreds
of exquisite roses
in every colour,
full or budding
or newly open.

How glad I’ll be
of all those photos
in years to come,
if every summer
is full of fire,
and the roses stop
struggling to be.

Only – you can’t
smell their perfume
in a photo.
Still, by that time,
I expect I too
may have given up
struggling to be.

Meantime, what hurts
is the thought
of a gradual fading,
year by year
bushes getting spindly
flowers shrinking
retreating.

And I, gradually
losing breath,
no extra to spare
for sniffing roses
or even walking, but
anyway there’ll be so few
roses.

Shared with Writers' Pantry #10 at Poets and Storytellers United