11 December 2010

A juxtaposition

When what you do messes with what you cuddle.

This one is for all those awesome worky-mummies who don't have time to read some strange woman's blog, but especially for Mama Mogantosh and Salsa, who know what I'm talkin' 'bout.

As dawn’s first horizontal breath lights distant hills she smoulders,
And slowly lifts the old, cold night aloft upon her shoulders,
She holds a glowing promise (Just a minute, Mummy’s writing),
Like a humble spray of thirsty kindling (Shoosh now!) wants igniting.

Cool shadows are dissolved by creeping rays (Don’t touch that, please),
Dappling littered forest floors (I said don’t touch!) and huddled trees.
Once-frigid stones and brittle bones (Did you just hit your brother?)
Are warmed and thawed (Just sit) and then (Right there) they warm each other

In ignorance I lie (Did you stick Lego up your nose?)
Closely tucked in (Blow) the place where (Blow again) the dreaming goes.
(Could you just give me five minutes?) Tiny servants of the sun,
Something something ‘bout the morning (Oh for goodness’ sake, I’m done.)


  1. Sigh. Gold. I reckon even your wee rhymes.

  2. So fine. You make me proud. Does your wee rhyme btw?

  3. Does my wee rhyme what?