From Summer to Autumn (in a single falling)

It is sunny and cold
And the leaves have turned brown,
It's a shame that we walk
Around two seperate towns,

Your hand in mine
Would warm up my smile
But instead I sit, gaze
And dream a little while

And the little while takes flight,
Flies into hopeless hope
Of romance, of love
Of hearts being home.

Through the window the sun
Rests on my shoulder
It might have felt like your kiss
If I could just be bolder

And tell you I saw you
This morning, half sleepy
I know it wasn't real
But it got my heart leaping

And that elephant juice
Or shoes for that matter
Just covers the truth
Makes feelings flatter

And as much as it's hard
Us being apart from each other
It's worth the wait;
I remember our summer.

(with James in mind)

The Story of Wandering Aegnus by W.B.Yeats

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire aflame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And some one called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

Harboured.

Oh God,
Why is my heart,
Once a lively young thing,
Sullen for others;
Those I once may have danced with.

Anger,
It swells,
A flood, an ocean,
An expanse of emotion,
Once lapping at the feet,
Now a tidal wave engulfing what used to be
Patience.

He is trying,
And she echoes me,
Why can't he see?
These fakeries irritate
They build, and I let them
Till they topple and fall,
Pour out of the sky,
Into the rest.

This isn't like me,
Love.
Was never hard,
Was never far,
Was never something I had to dig deep for.

And then Him.
He doesn't know,
But He's learning.
Happiness and Peace,
A blessing without knowing.
How, amongst these clean Christian folk,
Can judgment burble
And frowns come my way.

I'm protective,
A little shipwreck,
Harboured.

03.10.10

It's fascinating how heavy the rain is today,
And yet the smallest spider's web,
Amidst the fierce drops,
Is not destroyed.
It gains, in fact, a beauty,
As the tiny threads become laced
With tiny beads it draws from the sheets.

Writing

These pages can be turned
And turned again, until
A crisp lined white appears;
Staring challengingly at you.

Such a part of you is this;
The marriage of heart and pen
That you no longer feel vulnerable
When your ink shapes words around lines.

Rhyme and stanza seem obsolete,
The verse created is yours;
Purely and unquestionably a part
Of your otherwise silent true self.

These poetries created are children,
Each relying on your approval,
Scared of facing rejection
From the nurturer who feeds them.

If I share these words with you,
Would you understand how it breaks
The trusting bond built
Apon sharing secrets with this book?

To these pages I can be honest
If I do wrong, a new page is offered:
No questions asked,
A forgiving and forgetting autonomy.

So if I'm sharing this with you,
I am at my utmost vulnerable,
More naked than you'll ever see me,
More in love than i thought i could be...

Overgrowth.

This garden,
of little truths, whispered alone,
cutting through jungle in the form of honest expression.
It can't be helped,
She tries.
This garden; escapism.
Lose me, please.

Kristy Smith, 2006.

She didn't know what to write, and so this is what followed;

"Stars and Spiders are not the same."

Insightful, Miss Smith. Thank you.