Poetry (87)


It is the end of the working day

And there is a delicious kind of unease at play

A gentle kind of anarchy….


A gusty breeze of chill mischief

(Puck embodied in Ariel’s element)

Is scattering the linden blossoms

Like the out of season

Cousin of snow,

Flung across a pavement jetty.

Like garlands of jasmine on braided hair

Or promise-laden confetti.


Nature is reclaiming all of us

In this one moment

Of riotousness.

I wait for the bus

And pause only just

To appreciate the cinematic beauty

And to wonder what…

Or whom, waits for me?


(© Copyright Pola Negri 25/04/2017)


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