New in Town

Another poem from over at Ripple Poetry – all about being New in Town.

Ripple Poetry

Being new
means you can reinvent
who you were
if you wish

If you wish
to be free of definitions
that were given with birth &
at school

At school
where people may have defined you
in terms of your family
class, colour, country & skin

Class, colour, country & skin
what are these things really
but external ways
some choose to decide who you are & determine
your opportunity?

Your opportunity
to be decided by history, chance, fate?
But maybe not now
you can be new in
time, place, space

Time, place, space
to reinvent to say, ‘look beyond my place of birth &
my face’

Your face
with so much more beneath
jaws bones just like any others
eyes all your own that tap into
dreams

Dreams
to reinvent, move freely,
& become something
you really want to be

You really want to be
unconstrained by stereotypes
limitations…

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Sea Dragon

Another work from Ripple Poetry

Ripple Poetry

I hear the wind
The sea dragon must be on its wingless flight
So far from its underwater palace.

Where are the places through which my
Footsteps wander without me?
Jeweled hearts are there.

The sea dragon is dining
Chewing away the past and future
Breathing out fire
Spreading through water
Purification.

The sea dragon rises to the surface
The ocean surges as it flies to
The superior heavens.

I hear the rains descend
The sea dragon must be on its wingless flight.
Far from the feeding frenzy it hears
From its four sisters
Who wander through palaces of Jade and Jasper.

I see my house unrooved
Metal darting down the streets
It must be the breath of the Dragon King
Sending out his eternal din.

I hear the wind
The sea dragon must be on its wingless flight.

By June Perkins
 

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Teaspoons in the Garden

Tea In The Park
Paradise Circus -Flickr Creative Commons

One less teaspoon in the drawer
one more in the garden beds
one more beneath
my children’s favourite tree.

I know this for sure
they’re not anywhere near
my beloved teapot
& searching’s become a daily chore.

For the rest of this poem please go to Ripple Poetry

Notes on Creativity
This poem began as the start of a memory story about my early motherhood days. It ran out of puff and sat in my notebook gathering dust. But poetry gave it new life and here it is.

A note to all new readers

I’d like to acknowledge all the new visitors and followers of this blog. Thanks to those of you beginning to leave comments.