Janice Windle Poems

Against the lemon sky, an oak,
naked in delicate black lace.
The ancient face of the scarred moon,
early risen above a gable roof, is huge,
...

My mother’s mouth is pursed,
bristling with pins.
Today she frowns in the pale sun
filtering through the sash window.
...

You came to me,
your smile embracing me,
your arms opening to hold me
...

Just as I believe that autumn's gone,
left bare branches dressed in shades of grey,
melted the glowing leaves to muddy slime,
stealing sunlight, shortening my day –
...

All night I’ve heard
in complex dreams and wakeful moments,
the sea’s undifferentiated roar:
a millrace powered by
...

Blue was his colour, he always said. Went with his ice-blue Michael Caine eyes.
...

Alone in the dark,
I cuddle the cold receiver
... receiving...
...

In December
reminders of friends from past lives
dropp daily on the mat, renewing ties
that every year become more frayed,
...

I have come to the dark pool
In the glare of the living light
Of the white cavern at my still centre.
I have struggled here
...

These poems were written after I met Dónall and we spent days and nights together for the whole of August, getting closer and more loving all the time. Now we've had to go back to work, live separately in the week, and it's been a wrench to say the least. Dónall's response to the situation follows my desperate attempt at a solution to the problem:
.....................................................................................................................

I have a plan.
...