Everyday Poetry

This little poem started its life on 5th February,  and has gone through too many revisions in proportion to its size.  Sometimes they come fully formed,  sometimes they need a while to sit on the page and bother me. Anyway, I'm reasonably happy with it now,  so I'm going to leave it alone! Early February cherry blossom shivers in the wintry breeze,  like young girls too eager to show off their floaty summer dresses.   ©  Copyright 2024. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

I'm not sure if it's an age thing,  but I sometimes find myself waking in the middle of the night, unable to doze off again immediately.  This happened recently while I was staying at my sister's and the night noises were different to how they are at home.  Hark, hark, the dogs do bark, The cats are caterwauling, The night is still, the streets are dark, But sleep won't yet come calling. What can it be that roused them so? Intruders? Ghosts? Kids walking past? Why can't they simply let it go? Let me drowse off again, at last. The frustrating clock gives a single chime -  No good to man nor beast! Now I won't know the actual time For a good half hour, at least.   I've fretted my sheets into a shroud, It's tight, grimly constricting,  This nighttime chorus is far too loud, My thoughts too disconcerting.  I toss and turn, I fret and sigh, Watch the curtains growing light,  Then bam! It's somehow already nine, I must have slept alright!

It's only when I came to draw a vase of peonies in a still life that I noticed their variations in colour, and the impossibility of capturing their gorgeous combinations on the page.  Crimson at their core, Petals cluster in frilly carmine, Bright cerise, cherry red,  Purple where they layer, one tight to another, Fading to pale mauve, grey-violet, where the light hits.  Three peony heads loll voluptuously in a white vase; Hand crafted, its simple, hard-squared edges emphasise The complications of each heavy blood-red globe. ©  Copyright 2024. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved