Thoughts of you
My words will carry swift upon the wind
and speed across the stormy ocean waves.
No hurricane will stunt their flying wings
or find them left outcast amongst the brave.
For though you think I am so faint of heart
and prone to acts that lack a mindful way,
In truth not one does play the smallest part
of knowing what my head would wish to say.
But words alone cannot express the true
profoundness, held within my thoughts of you.
poem by Diana Rosser
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Inside me was the stillness
Woven, high between bare branches
rooks nests gather where new growth sprouts,
amidst the stillness inside me.
A tiny blue tit twittering,
flitters towards a coconut,
feeding the stillness inside me
The sky, open, glistening blue,
white clouds sailing, a seagull soaring,
through the stillness inside me.
A purple pansy perfect as the stillness inside me
until............
people came
knocking, ringing, wanting
Then the stillness was gone.
poem by Diana Rosser
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The waterfall
Carved between two forests
scented with pine and peat,
crystal cold water rushes
across a mountain shelf
over 200 ft deep.
Splashing,
tangling
in tremendous motion
roaring like the raging tide
over flint grey rock it tumbles
thundering downward
running wild
spraying
sparkling
[...] Read more
poem by Diana Rosser
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This autumn day
This autumn day, gossamer mist
lies low across the field kiss'd
by tiny glist'ning pearls cleaving
to tawny buckled blades weaving
amongst fawn thistles in their midst.
Beside this matted mound exists
a swath of grass on which persists
a green woodpecker hammering
this autumn day.
The stoic far cornered oak resists
the urge to shed into the mist
its glorious copper crowning,
shinning in the diffused rising
of the sun that stubbornly persists
this autumn day.
poem by Diana Rosser
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Sun loaded juices
Small sour waits for ripening sun,
soaking up warm rays 'til plum
coloured sweet upon the tongue.
Plum coloured sweet upon the tongue
merry mixed with old and young
naked feet, then danced upon.
Young naked feet then danced upon
sweetness ripened by the sun.
Loaded juices run and run.
Sun loaded juices run and run,
lazy sleeping until one
day long mellow pouring done.
One day long mellow pouring done
to gather all for that one
first noble tasting on the tongue
poem by Diana Rosser
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The old tree weeps
The old tree weeps, its branches low
bend over a path, winding slow
through tilting, toppling, broken stones
fading remains of treasured bones
hidden where moss and ivy grow.
Here lies John Peachey of Harrow
On which Byron sought long ago
phrases of love, amongst deaths thrones,
the old tree weeps.
Where young Allegra's remains know
that words are not enough to show
the lives that die beneath headstones
she was denied one of her own
her father's sins repaid her, so
the old tree weeps.
poem by Diana Rosser
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Flight
A spiders web breaks the ocean of dark,
Alexandria‘s matrix, gold under
the stretching wing.
My eyes catch with wonder
the cross of night over Africa’s start.
How is the city that has left its mark
on wisdom and war? Do you still slumber,
or will unrest
cause the sound of thunder
once more, to tear your heated streets apart?
The lights fade into the returning dark.
Easing the chair, I tuck myself under
the free blanket.
Removed from the wonder
I cross the night into Africa’s heart.
poem by Diana Rosser
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Relief
Gathering winds cumulate moisture seeds
rolling athwart tempestuous seas,
that float in gossamer clouds on
cooling breeze, easing savage
summer swelter parching
stark expectant fields.
Sweeping inward
monsoon black,
lightning
Flash!
crack!
Thunder,
splat! Heavy
drops, dance, dart, dash.
Joyful hands clap! Young
feet, jump, splish, splash; relief
floods. Torrents rain down warm on
earth's upturned face, rivulets run
wild along nakedness, baptising
thirsty toiled fields made ready for planting.
poem by Diana Rosser
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Blooms
In my garden a new rose blooms,
velvet red with heady sweet perfume.
The rose bush itself is carefully tended,
fertilized, when best remembered.
Cut back yearly, pruned in March,
so that when at last
the summer sun breaks through in June
the rose, displays a perfect bloom.
A small distance away, along a weathered fence;
a rose left to ramble, reveals its own elegance.
It’s white, pink flowers cluster
in great multitudes along it’s trailing limbs,
clambering and lightly scented
they grow and bloom untended.
poem by Diana Rosser
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The walkway
The walkway through the high pines
wire meshed on either side
damp with fine constant rain
swings its way across a raging
gorge below.
Will you follow me over
sure footed in familiar
walking boots and blue kagoule
catching me when I stumble,
slip or fall.
Or shall I walk behind you,
as you step in steady time
blind to anything but you;
one hand clutching a close fold
like a child.
Always afraid of heights
but a lover of high places
[...] Read more
poem by Diana Rosser
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