POETRY POTLUCK
asks us to consider living without love.
WITHOUT LOVE
I have trouble with 'love';
I think I'm often without it.
In fact I'm so unsure of it,
I rarely write about it.
The lady in the shot above
'Loves' her little bird to bits;
She tells him that she loves him,
For it's a word that fits.
I 'love' writing my Blog too;
Yes, there's that word again!
'Love' is a word that, too easily,
Slips into the human brain.
I don't think I'm unfeeling;
I'm certainly not cold,
But I've grown more suspicious of 'loving'
As I've grown increasingly old.
Affection? Ah, that's something
I feel with frequency;
It's something warm and ordinary
That resonates with me.
'Love' is a different matter;
It's wild, intense, profound;
It's something too exalted
And my feet are on the ground.
'Affection's' not overwhelming;
It fits in to the everyday.
Yes, I think I'm living without 'love',
And I much prefer it that way.
*
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PRISTINE
Rain-washed clouds and well-scrubbed sky.
The wet weather has departed.
Clouds now look feathery floating by
Now brighter weather's started.
But still there lurks a certain threat
A tinge of grey to remind us
That it may not be all over yet.
More black clouds may find us.
But palm trees pirouette and preen
In the chilly Winter weather,
Enjoying a climate that's pristine,
Now it's got its act together!
*
