the drone of the heating
mumbles “all’s well”
a mantra for peace
ghostly shadows
loom on the walls
sharp edges sleep
a line reaches
its mark on a gauge
the drone sighs into silence
it’s a windless night
a cat watches close
through the window
his book snaps shut
an incandescent glow
by a bed pops off
They skulk in your shadow
on shoes covered in felt
so as not to make a single sound –
waiting –
for a crack in the pavement –
you trip – a slight twinge
dissipates –
you look up –
the sun slants the clouds,
it’s raining somewhere in the west …
but now the sun shines,
people hug walls,
hints of spring
seep from the luke warm radiance
left by the decay of winter sunrays –
you smile inwardly,
the skulkers have gone
until next time.
Patience follows
smoke whorls of incense,
twisting, turning, riding
the air, its cylindrical heart
glows orange,
silver ash falls in a whisper;
she chooses words
with great care to
stoke the fire of life,
the smoke dispels
a sticky atmosphere
with spirals doubling,
folding in curves,
embracing life;
Patience smiles
as the curtain waves
to the setting sun.
his warrior beard
curls around his chin
each finger
ringed with gems and wings
Black Label Society
tattoos coded symbols
of an ancient law
cloaked I follow
to catch his colours
in the mall
– my small stone
for the day …
“A flight of fancy”, you say,
and I think,
“what does a fancy look like
flying: does it have two legs
extended like a heron
or curled talons like a hawk;
perhaps it carries fire
beneath its wings
like the silver brolga;
does fancy fly across hemispheres
like a Siberian sandpiper
navigating by the sun and stars
to winter in Australia…
On the other hand, could be
fancy has six legs
like an azure butterfly
dancing in rainforests…”
Smiling,
I incline my head,
behind your head
three dragonflies
are waltzing in the sun.
On a grey throated morning
a diesel bus passes
as I walk to the station
evoking crowded memories
of seasons long since turned,
a bright recollection springs up;
a red vinyl backseat
sticks to  my legs
on a hot summer’s evening;
I know any slight wriggle
will sting so I am listening.
The car engine sighs
on a long country road;
I sprawl on my back
looking up, out of the window
counting the stars,
marking their colours,
gold, brilliant white
and twinkles of blue.
Velvet night air,
slight pressure
of a down cushion
on my cheek,
dream oceans beckon
Candle flickers
against the creeping night,
soft snores, only me awake.
A blessed peace enfolds me,
my thoughts roam
forests of possibilities
and forking paths,
moonbeams guide
my steps through
chance and necessity
to the cave where
I await midnight peels
of the church bell.
A blue cat appears,
taps my nose
with a velvet pad,
looks deep into my eyes
and smiles.
We watch the clouds
cross the face of the moon
together.
The bell rings
twelve times.
I walk on footpaths
with the dog,
marvellous reason
to stop, peer into homes
pondering what makes a home,
how many of these houses are homes,
easy to spot the rentals,
the gardens say it all,
some clipped, contained in lines,
others rambling, dripping wisterias,
ivy, and the dreams of parks,
oaks, hostas nestling in the shade,
a burst of opportunistic orchids,
red and tangerine,
happy grass, gratitude to La Nina,
life and sap flowing in empty streets;
hard rubbish on naturestrips
smellworthy,
we spot a swivel chair,
no rips or stains, hydraulic works;
we make haste back home,
stop at the greengrocer
for the doggie’s daily carrot and a pat,
we  jump in the car
claim the thrown out chair.
On the mantlepiece
a poet dozes
staff in hand,
a bull poised
ready to fight,
a white rose petal
on his head
This is my contribution to the challenge with @poemblaze – I challenged him to write a poem of free association and imagism. Mine  is more imagist – inspired by stuff on my mantlepiece.
Marousia 