Smogasbord, and so
Health,

A dashboard of delights.

Supine could be;
Relaxed on a hospital bed,

Goose down,
Luxurious but bad for your back,

Foam,

Sometimes current but initially,
Uncomfortable,

A sister healed,
A discussion beyond Mum,

Silver Hair framing,
Ice-blue eyes,

Wrinkles round a mouth;

Ripe fruit is determined by smell, and
A mango,

Will flood a kitchen with colour.

Who are you now,
Riding on the upper deck to Luton with,

The Book in your lap and,
The Wind in your hair?

Why are you a mango,
Ripe to eat?

When love is alive, or
Dying,

Aroma disperses into cupboards, is
Dispensed across sofas, and

Out walking I thought,
A million dollars can change everything.

– have your wings clipped but clip them yourself,
spoof your location, so health.

Angels are born everyday.

♦picture♦ – Eartha Kitt, Wikipedia♦

evocative short poetry – words move

Filed under: Poetry Tagged: cancer, death, family, health, poetry