Disclaimer: You know the drill. Alas, Fraser doesn't belong to me. I just like to play with him now and then (who wouldn't?), so I'll be careful. Promise!
I don't know why I'm writing so much dueSouth poetry lately. I think I've been inspired by a certain blonde Chicago cop, who's also a poet inside.
J Well, here's the latest. Fraser's looking back on the seasons of his life...and finds that all he needs is one Stanley Raymond Kowalski (who can blame him?). Comments welcome: littlepoplin@hotmail.comEnjoy!
Memoirs
By: Ellie Leonard
The tide turns under feet
sand slips back to ocean
rain pounds, thunder rolls and the salt stings
scaly things slip past
in murky depths of minds
and I get the feeling I've been here before
Blazes the sun purple UV rays
parching heat and dying of thirst
seeking shelter oasis refuge
reddening skin hardening
waves rise from the road
and I tread a desert purgatory
Frost bruises cracking lips
dusting winter apple cheeks
icicle breathing and shadow seeking
chipping ice from blood
flakes swirling flurrying in patterns
and I remember dead seasons wasted in youth
Tears once shredded heart and reason
broken spirit turning reviving
seen it all done it all yet still a child
glimmers of hope beat there again
touching and smiles come from the one
and I live spring again in his eyes.