stone church
graffitied on its wall
a broken heart
Published by
Patricia Prime
Patricia has recently retired from teaching after 30 years, and now devotes some time to the reading recovery programme at her local school. She is the co-editor of the New Zealand haiku magazine Kokako and reviews editor of the online magazine Stylus. She writes short stories, poetry, reviews and articles, and likes to write collaborative poems with other poets.
Contact Patricia: pprime at ihug.co.nz.
View all posts by Patricia Prime
stone church
graffitied broken heart
on the wall
graffiti wall
one reads
please dont write
end of summer
river drying –
her voice calling my name
strangers’ voices –
stopping for morning tea
by the wayside cafe
Neighbourhood –
near the foot of the Cross,
the arrow of Cupidon
the road home . . .
white crosses and flowers
everywhere one looks
journey’s end
one autumn morning …
the mockingbird sings another’s song
–
awake at midnight
a train whistle blasts
across the valley
october sky
a beetle crawls out of an oak stump
sultry day
a tiny spider climbs
up and down its thread
Biological loom-
at sunset the weaver hemstiches
the cobweb of this day
from a crack
in the garden wall
the tail of a mouse
shadow cast
cross the floor —
broken vase
summer sun
reflected in the mirror
the open door
winter evening, standing alone –
sudden embrace from
wandering breeze
a sudden breeze
the young girl’s hair
covers her face
her face
sunlight on a cherry tree …
in spring
birthday presents
lined up on the table
catch the sunlight
party, pass midnight
no end in sight —
ant trail
twin beds –
past midnight
still my room-mate snores
past midnight —
aged oak silhouette
her initials
old oak tree
one leaf spirals
to the ground
green buds —
aged oak
in spring
across the table
through a vase of flowers
your face
watery eyes
cross the bed —
this empty space
Indian summer
sparrows
share a dust bath
through the tree
white blossoms
stirred by whirlwind –
this dust bath
retirement bouquet
the yellow centres
of the white daisies
overturned tombstones
in this field …
withered pale daisies