Hands

We hold the butterfly

In our hands

It shines

Like the sun 

Our fingertips are wrinkled

Too many days

Spent dying 

There are always doors

Floors to fall through

We could choose a key

Turn the lock

Let time slip

Through our fingers

Like sand

Our skin is as tough

As elephant hide

We stroke it 

In the light 

Wash away the bad dreams

And the powder 

Maybe one day 

We will fly

Spread our wings

Soar into the clouds

There is only one day

Left

To be

We wring our hands

And cry. 

Twig

We brush the twigs

From our hair

The birds

Warble in the darkness

We are skipping

And tripping 

The moon glows

Glimmering 

And singing 

Evidence of hope 

Soon it will be dawn 

The sun will glow

The skies will be misty

Full of rain 

We do not know 

The cause of life

It is imperfect 

Far from fine

Alice sings a song

I pray and hum

Happy that she 

Is with me

We will comb 

The debris 

Make ourselves

Clean and tidy

Today is nothing 

But a dream

We swallow it whole

And smile. 

Swimming

The goldfish swims

In the bowl

Its bright orange fins

Dazzling in the light

We hold our breath

Feel the excitement 

Of driving in the car

With the window open

We left the war 

Behind us

The old man sits on 

The blown up bed

White sheets

Covering his knees

We take a photograph

Looking in the mirror

It is hard to believe we

Are real

There are so many stories

Swimming inside 

We dare not look

If we look

We will feel 

The pain will overwhelm us

Just like the noise

And the sun 

Perhaps in time

We will forget

See the city

Towering in the sky

We gulp the water

Take in the day

Like birds in flight

We paddle and sway

For the longest time

We stay under water 

Gather the magic 

In our hands.

Imperfect

We wipe our tongue

Over our imperfect teeth

We are walking 

Among the trees

Our feet gentle whispers

On the fallen leaves

Our breath 

Happy

And short

We really should make

More of our days

The sun comes

The night falls 

It all happens

Like rain 

Falling from a thick

Grey cloud

Too much of our time

Has been used up

In despair

It makes us dizzy

To think

It makes time

Dissolve and expand

A chemical reaction

In our body and brain

As long as we are moving

We are safe

The stars are our umbrella

The moon our cake

She giggles

There is always time

For tea

An unbirthday celebration 

We like our imperfections

They make us different

More than average

A song and a dream

We will never forget

Why our teeth

Are broken

But in the darkness

We can smile.

A note from Jae - Sunday Muse

I was deleted from this week's Sunday Muse prompt. 

I would like to say thank you to everybody who visits my site and leaves a comment. 

Thank you also to those who are empathetic enough to understand that I may have difficulties which prevent me from visiting others or being technically proficient. 

I really enjoy The Sunday Muse and all the inspiration it provides. 

If you would like to read my poem it is here at my blog site - 'Church'

Many thanks for reading and apologies if I have in anyway let anyone down. 

Jae Rose

Church

We eat breakfast 

In the vacant church

Alice hums a tune

The day is passing 

May is coming soon

We feel it in the 

Rainy moonlight 

Perhaps we will fetch

A garland of flowers

To brighten up

The dreary walls

We look at the gravestones

It sends a shiver

Down our spines 

The night air

Moves the branches

Of the willow trees

It makes a brittle noise

Like a stern voice

Piercing through the silence

We are in an altered state

One minute buzzing

The next asleep

The laurels in the garden

Are dark green

But not as dark

As the sky

Perhaps we should count sheep

She giggles

Beads of sweat

Sloughing off her brow

Giddy as if she has 

Drunk sloe gin

We rest our heads together

Say a prayer

Sing a hymn

We love the peace of the church

And all the ways 

It keeps us safe. 

Amish

The horse's hoofs

Clickety-Clack on 

The hot cement

We are delivering a message

Alice has smeared ashes 

On her head

A baptism of sorts

She is wearing her best dress

As we trot along the highway

The wooden buggy

Glowing in the sunlight 

The chickens dangle 

From a hook in the roof

Somebody's supper

She giggles

I wonder who will go 

To my funeral

I expect there will be empty seats

Time dissolves

And buzzes

Like bees

Dancing around the honey

We are off to see the Amish

We would like to live

A simple life

One without nightmares

And electricity

A place to dream

And pray

Peace amongst the chaos

Of the world. 

Birds

We look out of the dusty window

The birds are playing in the tree

They have red beaks

And smooth black bodies

They are summoning us for tea

Alice claps her hands in glee

In the study is a stuffed bird

It wears glasses

Doesn't need a cage

When it is night 

We turn a light upon our our hands

Make the shape of a pigeon 

In flight

It makes us happy 

As happy as the little bird

Looking in the wing mirror

One day we will fly away

She whispers

And skips around the room

The song birds echo 

The tap of her feet

Tiny patent leather shoes

Recently shined and glowing 

Her hair bounces 

In the moonlight

As beautiful as a bird in flight

We will always love the birds

Their song and flight 

Their fragility and strength 

How lucky we are to see them

To turn them into words. 

Gifts

The walls of the room

Fall on us

We are delivering a gift

Something more

That was left behind 

We breathe our story

Tiny snores

Slipping out of our mouths 

There is no payment 

We are half a world away 

On the moon

She says

I brought the gift

To the front door 

No one answered

It is an empty house

Full of echos and rumbles 

Alice sings a song

The wrapping paper 

Hangs off

A silver bow 

Withers in the wind 

Knock

Knock

Knock

Bangs my hand 

We would like the world to answer

To take our empty gift

How dull the day is

Spent alone

We wish for something more

Take the gift for ourselves

Nothing fills us up

No toys or trinkets

It is a lonely path

One we have trodden 

Many times before

We walk away

Tired and sore

The journey of the gift continues. 

Diner

We walk past 

The Whitehouse Diner

It is burnt out

We wonder why

The windows are black

Boarded up

Ashes and leaves 

Line the concrete floor

The sky is like peach melba

Sweet enough to eat

Perhaps there was a thunder storm 

She claps her hands in delight

Full of electricity

We wonder who 

Went to 

The White House Diner

What they ate

The conversations lost 

In the wooden walls

The telegraph pole still stands

Perhaps we can make a call

Reach out

Not in

We would like to sit down

Our feet are sore from walking

We take a picture

In our minds

The Diner is a landmark

A place in space and time

It should always be remembered

For what it was

And what it has become.