Everyday Poetry

Dots This came to me as I was staring out of the conservatory windows,  admiring the view of the valley facing our garden. Five white dots on a green ground Sheep grazing slowly across the field Seeking the freshest grass. Three white dots on a blue ground Butterflies spiralling upwards Chasing the promise of summer. One white dot on a grey ground Your head bobbing around our garden The fixed point in a restless universe. © Copyright 2019. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

Memento Doing some (rather late) spring cleaning the other day,  I noticed the pile of stones I keep as an ornament in the bathroom. They were covered with dust and needed a good clean to reveal their full beauty.  The poem came out as a series of waves,  which seems appropriate. On the shelf A plate of stones Chosen from thousands On sand and pebble beaches Picked out and saved as special Each one designed to prompt a memory Of otherwise long forgotten, leisurely days. Every now and then, Washing off their coat of dust Reveals their secret hidden beauty, The reason they were stuffed into pockets, When others, less deserving, dropped back onto the beach. Shapes smoothed By pounding waves at the land's edge Revealing stripes, spots, marbling, speckles Pearly pink, sandy beige, granite grey, and black, Large pebbles fitting snugly in the palm of a hand Small stones worn down faster, or over longer ages, All glisten in the water, dulling down to dry solidity,

Keeping the peace September's Writing Magazine prompt is about keeping the peace, or finding peace in difficult situations. In her teens, my feisty older sister Fought hard against our mum's rules and restrictions. They argued their loud way through disagreements Neither of them backing down, Neither letting the other have the last word. She was often denied permission On what to wear,  who to see, Made to stay in, or worse - To come with us on family outings: "You will come,  and you will enjoy yourself." My teens came four years later, A secret apprenticeship, watching from the sidelines Taught me the wisdom of secrets and subterfuge. Skirts could be worn longer, And rolled up once out of sight. Curfews could be 10pm, If only the bus hadn't been late/cancelled/ Or I hadn't spent the fare by mistake. Boys could be met away from home Until I could be sure they'd pass the test. Years later, my sister took me to task: "You let