The moon wound, smell the sea, nostalgic memories, my first poem.
Mellow after light, the wrinkled blue purple bay, my inner prophet,
spreading into lines of poetry, writes through me, a poetry of my soul.
Winds of heaven blow across the heavens, waves clasp, I lay here, just
dreaming of being.
Sea, browning grey, white laced, under limitless sky, as time plays, life
moves on.
Face of the clouds, faces of the past, who I really am, you give, may together
we break through iron gate of life.
Seasons I have seen, hold fresh, blue, yet green, the beauty of you, so close,
so near, makes me think, as seasons do not fade.
* * * * *
Dennis Thomas is an Australian poet who resides in Canberra. His work has appeared in The Lost Words, and The South Townsville micro poetry journal. He is currently preparing his fourth collection. His contributions to Dr. Hurley’s Snake-Oil Cure can be found here.
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