fiction, poetry and musings

by Laogeodritt


And you’re there and I see you there and I hear you there
But that’s there.
You’re there, not here, and I’m here, not there
Because it is a worry.


Coloured little sticks in their little box…

pieces of gold

and I look up
to the leaves
gently upon the lively wind
pieces of gold

The rain is coming

The rain is coming
The rain is coming

I see the concrete darken
and glisten
I feel a gentle breeze
cool my skin
I smell that grassy smell
which heralds rain
I hear a pitter-patter

The words in his heart

The words are
even to say the simplest thing
(To express — to speak — to tell)
And yet
of infinite choices no one is equal.

The dragon flies

Wind upon my face, and in my ears
the roar
and my hands gripping a horn.
The air smells fresh and sweet
with notes of barbecue —
a scent from long ago.

As the others dance

The door
Towers above you
Grand. Majestic.
Carved ornate motifs in gilded wood
and metal
and marble all around
inviting you into its world.

The flames danced in the breeze

A daughter of the village has passed away. Presiding over the funerary vigil, the village matron reflects upon her death.