the seas endless crescendo,
summer roses,
shadowy inks of the stars.

gathered up,
spells and sorcery,
budding silver moon,
eyelashes melting,
sweet, sweet kiss.

i write poetry
from the collective,
that resides within my mind

they gather often,
at the water cooler
or for coffee, tea
and a bit of a natter..

all my idio's and syncranicities
my ego,
and my shy shuffling humble-bumbler
the flambouyant quirke,
the little girl memories

all get the memo and out they come.

earth mother, surfer chick,  
daughter of despair,
moderator, instigator,
wanna-be litigator
acerberic premenstrual ditzbitch,
all represented there.


so in the end,
what you get to see;
are the minutes from the meetings,
or the gossip from the gatherings
the intimate murmurings...
from the musings.
of the legion, that ...
collectively
call themsevles
me.

Easy flow the waters
of the river passing by,

though we straighten them with walls
and narrow them in time,

and lace them up with bridges
to bind them where they lay,

still the waters, like a lifetime,
slip their bonds and pass away..

Who've tasted freedom
will have no appetite for
less; silence be ******.

as lonely as the autumn wind
sighing, full of leaves,

china skies of powder-blue,

the day is filled with golden light,
the round sun hanging lower
its soft edges acrobats of cloud.

the sun an arc of
flowering orange,
kiss me
as i have never been kissed.

I love the kind of sadness
That makes me write.


-- Eleanor