In the small of the mornings
I wake - sharpened arrows
of consciousness cocked at the day.
Penetrated words play out
Penetrated words play out
their trajectory in the way
uncontrived constellations
fall from the sky.
Reflected floating driftwood
of meanings on the sea
of my imaginings,
wash up on a string of days
Reflected floating driftwood
of meanings on the sea
of my imaginings,
wash up on a string of days
on this my shore:
Old Yellow Moon.
Threaded torn pieces
of mind's tissue-material
bagged, tagged and categorised.
These passing emotions
drawn bow to target,
bagged, tagged and categorised.
These passing emotions
drawn bow to target,
fired and dropped to the page.
Piecemeal lurkings and snippets
of collected imaginings,
dreams or fantasies.
Piecemeal lurkings and snippets
of collected imaginings,
dreams or fantasies.
Realities perhaps
succinct and distilled...
succinct and distilled...
A muffled collated
rendering of my world.
© Jennifer Phillips (All rights reserved)
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| Tide out at Flinders © Jennifer Phillips |
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