Thursday, 17 April 2014

Fields


Fields


The wind rustles over the carpet and the soft mist of shade sways
Green.
Curving in concord, each blade the brother of the next.
One veneer, one hue.
Yet every blade is different, every blade contains history,
Evolution wrapped up in a small green shoot.

The breeze glides over the meadow and the soft haze of hues swing
Red.
Bending in unison, each poppy the sister of the next.
One covering, one tone.
Yet every stalk is distinctive, every stalk holds bygones,
Evolution wrapped up in a small red flower.

The chill envelops the fields and the soft fog of colours fall
Red, yellow, black, brown, white.
Collapsing in sympathy, each the sibling of the next.
Blankets of colour, many shades.
Yet every soldier is unique, every comrade preserves a bloodline
Evolution’s highest pinnacle wrapped up in a Flanders shroud.

So many colours side by side, brothers in arms, daughters of time
Sleeping in Flanders Fields


By Linda Prince

Wednesday, 16 April 2014

Dolly Mixture


Dolly Mixture


Bright pink cylinders rub shoulders with chocolate shapes
Sugar coated jellies from the cellophane escapes.               
Tiny hard rounded gums that roll around the tongue
And chewy squares of sugarpaste appeal to old and young.
Crispy coating and squishy comfits with flavours subtle
All bagged together in see-through plastic resembles builder’s rubble.
Pink and yellow and red and brown and white
and some that have shades of many we see
If Dolly Mixtures can happily sit side by side
Why can’t we?

By Linda Prince

Tuesday, 15 April 2014

Clear recent History


Clear recent History

She worried about him, she cared too much
And while she was caring, he had her in his clutch.
She changed her clothes, she changed her style
And he would criticise, picking her apart with bile.
She shivered and cowered, and his dominance would worsen
For as she tried to please him, she became a different person.
Then one day she realised she was a glutton
So she switched on the laptop and pressed the freedom button.
In an instant he was gone, there was no on-line mystery.
With all outdated browsing, he had suddenly just become history.


By Linda Prince