Flames are beautiful Red, blue and yellow Just and awesome sight to see why not come and play with me. All rights reserved copyrighted(c)2017 Roxann A Harvey

Outside my window   A clothes line on which I’ve hung hurriedly my towel and my t-shirt— wrinkled   A few flower pots with seasonal flowers— all colours   A white wall with fine cracks— revealing its grey body

My heart still ached from losing Gus, from losing August, but my need for a dog, a companion, was too great. Your ears were plastered back, even through the glass. Not a Poodle. Not a Havanese. Brown eyes cast down. Tail tucked. I held your…

Bold but beautiful I miss your promises— all fake   (Hiaku)

The windows of my heart that peeps into reality wiping off the mud got stuck with time. The window to my longing desire to jump and dance seeing the birds chirping and dirty glance of the rainbow the window of my yearning love waiting for…

Black velvet on your ivory skin   Hair pinned bare neck   A sideway glance from you, Senorita, lights my sullen room

Life— a small book a never ending prose an exaggerated art form

The sight of raindrops soothes the nerves, like the blissful smile of someone dear. The petrichor of soaking pain down the earth, To the parched and dead. The feel of droplets pounding the bare skin, Some bouncing back, like the goodbyes of dear ones. Some…

The day has been long. And on the cusp of yet another, Dawn will almost break, But not my flagging, weary muse.   Though there are only street lamps, And dark clouds marring my view Of the beloved mountains on the North Shore, I know…

A flower pot resides next to my work station   Sometimes a flower blooms with a red glistening texture its subtle fragrance all over   Sometimes a thorn pricks my conscience its consequence all over   The crimson pot— my muse stays forever.