May

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Image by Louise

Again the blossom
foams along the fence
and sparrows in the eaves
chatter, bright-eyed
against the skim of blue.

And while you sleep,
turning as the Earth turns,
rotating in an eye-blink, a petal falls
like a longed for touch of breath
brushing by your cheek.

The garden seems crowded
now, cluttered with sunlight,
a smudge of purple, wings
and trees, a ripple
on the surface of the pond.

And you know this colour well,
the way the light
falls across the water,
how it leaves you breathless
and asks you what you’re waiting for.

 

©2013 Louise Hastings

The Woman

I know there is grey in the sky at dawn
for how otherwise could the mountain stream

run so pure and the gardens of suburbia
remain so green? I look up and see a woman

looking out, lost, a lot like me, a girl
clinging to the space between two breaths

where flesh meets air, air with indigo, rainbows
ending in the sea. Yet how the waters

run so dark now, from the fracking stations
and factories. They blame global warming

for all this water but the clouds are angry;
they throw their fists at mankind’s disregard.

The woman must find comfort where she can
and trembles, gazing up at the moon and stars.

 

 

©2013 Louise Hastings

 

Warm Currents

Photo credit: Louise Hastings

Photo credit: Louise Hastings

When I woke this morning,
not really awake,
paddling along the surface
of a dream like a swan,

I thought this must be
what a soul is like,
always there
but hidden on the other side of dark.

I could be the wind or trees
or a bird under starlight
or the ripples on the lake,

but I’m not me
until your currents lift me
and I rise into air.

©2013 Louise Hastings

Lady of the Lake

Photo credit: Louise Hastings

Photo credit: Louise Hastings

Beyond these hills in a darkening sky
the wind blows in a gust of stars

and I dream of flying, stepping off
this plinth of stone, to stretch my wings

and fly like the birds do, in wind and sun,
over earth and trees. I searched for this

wild place, became its guardian, watched
it change as I changed, my legs, my arms,

my face; I looked upon them like they were new
to me, all the cracks and storm-blown bits.

And as I stand alone among these empty hours,
I wait for sunrise, the shaft of orange light

that brought me warmth and hope
before I heard the music and entered fire.

 

 

Copyright @Louise Hastings 2013

Cycles

August full moon

August full moon (Photo credit: Stelios Kiousis)

Beyond the rooftops
lies a sea of blue,
pale as eggshells,
delicate in this August wind.
I walk, a Lou Reed song
playing from an open window
to the battered, mid-summer trees.
Their leaves hiss,
a rosette of darkened green,
swirling into another perfect day
caught in the moment,
in the sun shining
reflecting off the dandelion heads
bright and yellow as unbroken yolk.
I can’t recall the names
of the raindrops that fell,
the streaming sky
overcast and thunderous
in another cycle of the moon.

 

 

© 2012 Louise Hastings

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