Whistling,
she carries wildflowers
and wild garlic
stains her sleeve.
She is not
from the city
I stare
at the white blossoms
caught in her hair.
My shoes
on the pavement
her hair blows wild.
Songbirds chitter,
pip, squeak
in the bordering trees
in a startling thunder
of wings
they fly.
Her laugh
takes to the sky.
She, an earthed breeze
in a close London square.
I stare
at white blossoms
caught in her hair.
The buffalo
the wolves
reintroduced
says Man
but we do not
control
the hoofbeats
of the past
which beat again
in red hearts.
We only listen
to the rivers cry
for salmon
we only listen
to the cry
in our blood.
The pounding of bear
shakes
the forest of
our dreams
as great paws run
through them.
We only listen
as the buffalo hoof
presses into the mud
and the wolf-heart
howls
at the
white and ancient
moon.
Put on your
cloak of stars
and walk among
the rich
and poor
of heart.
Walk among
the tender flowers
until your feet
smell of lavender
and roses.
Let the breath
of the summer wind
catch the whispers
in your heart
and carry them to
be spoken by
the trees.
Bring the flowerless
the scent of flowers.
Among the starless
be a moon.
Hello readers,
I normally post poems on this site. But I do want to let you know about my latest published book for middle-grade readers (9-12 year olds).
Caroline, our 11 year old heroine, journeys high in the Himalayas to wake a sleeping giant. She imagines he’ll be kind and friendly. But if he is a good giant, why was he given a sleeping spell in the first place?
Find the book on the Handersen Publishing website:
https://handersenpublishing.com/store/p35/The_Amber_Giant.html
or Amazon!
Best wishes,
Giulietta
