short poems

Don McDonald
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A  few of my short poems
She Shines

Now she shines
in her time
as the transcendental light
her silken hair
warms the glow in her eyes
her mouth
invites shadows
to rest in new places


Gemma

Pricked. Primed.
No distraction,
no second thought.
It’s already hers.
Slowly, softly, soundlessly
her belly brushes lightly.
Sshhh,
… stop.
When to claim it?
Still. Stay still, still.
Steady. Ready -
wriggle and wait.
It knows!
No! Flight!
But not fancy.
The one that always finds her feet flies too,
arches back, snaps it. Plucked from the air
to carry gently inside
for playing the best endgame.
No more pussy-footing then.
Confessional

Once I had a special knowing
Briefly spun around my soul
Flourishing in her presence
Feasting on her breath
Filled with the taste of her
I let her dissipate
In daydream dalliances with idols
I let her go
That
(for God’s sake!)
That
Is the confession


Dashed
G dash D said:   ‘Goodness Me,
What was it I did hope to see?”
G dash D said: “If I could
I would do what I know I should.
That tiny dot they call Earth
Has always been a source of mirth
But damn I just can’t recall
Why I put humans there at all.
It could be a lovely place
If those buggers maintain’d their grace.
Will I zap and turn them pap
Send the Earth on its final lap?
Or is there some good reason
To let them have one more season?
Leith for lunch
 
There on the footpath, just there, right before Leith
A two-headed monster with ten dozen teeth.
Hopping and popping and silly dancing about
Quivering, shivering it started to shout:
 
“I’ve lost my dear Mummy. Where is my Mummy?
If you can’t tell me you’ll go in my tummy.”
 Of course Leith was brave but still very worried.
It’s bad to be eaten – boiled or curried!
 
Leith got an idea and it came just in time:
“If you have lost your Mummy, you can have mine.
Not ever for keeping but only to share.
Although you are ugly I doubt if she’ll care.”
 
“When it’s all said and done she won’t mind another
Because at home there’s already a brother.”
 

Too little, too late

Gaia gasps softly again
Breathless again
Wounded again
Again air stifled and stilled
And stilled
And still fewer guardians are steadfast
Their footprints are deathbeds of leaves
  - dropped on lop-cropped limbs
  - beside bastard bits of broken bark
Mistakenly proud guardians
   - they fail too quickly, fall too quietly
Unnoticed (almost)
They should scream
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