Canola Morn

Whilst stand among the brilliant yellow canola as it did its wind driven dance, 

off in the horizon I happen’d to glance

and I saw the outline of another quite by chance.

She beckon’d me a hither

Upon a milk’d hued morn with not a voice but the merest of gesture

With an effort great did I my ego bolster,

shoving aside questionable character lack into a bolt’d hoslter.

Instinct not reason lead my feet to act

While thine head caution’d to hold fast for once begun it could not retract

Yet a slight aromatic tinge breezed for unreason’d attract.

Across stride by stride did I stutter through the canola’d dew

The moisture drips along my waist their mark did they strew

Closer follow’d by closer still her features sharpened bidding attention to all around her and I adieu

Visual’d query of whom my body selfishly moved to such proximate sight

garner’d she wore dress long, sleeved in radiant white

roundness of face that one could tell was middled to thirty to forty years of delight

Tantalized was I as brunette hair surround’d by dull mist whimsically within curled

Twas surely a woman who o’ershadow’d all else in the world

One last footfall brought our distance to inconsequential measure,

the cream’d texture of her flesh harken’d innerly hedonistic images of pleasure,

yet hurry’d her demeanor suggest even lightning spark would ignite in slowed pressure.

I stood beside the very icon of night-wett’d whimsical dreamt pick

 attempting to sound for me a very most unnatural slick

(and praying to draw her attention away from my double cowlick)

“I have a notion that to this ye are aware

But I can not but sayeth that doth are spectacularly on the shade of fair”

She gave naught but a muted giggle

And perhaps my eyes deceived but a hint of a plump’d bosom’d wiggle

Shuffled a foot did I then the other,

mayhaps my speak to her was auditory smother

To look upon her face caused for sweat my thin’d bangs to soak

No words were longer past yet volumes to me she spoke

Flaming a fire that an ere day did not even produce a wisp of smoke

Stymy’d twas I

for though nary a note had passed through those pull lips nor even a try

yet  the sweetest of song echoed within the ears of my

And whence tips of her fingers float’d upon thine arm out

from thine crack’d lips released a sedated sigh

Could it be that I was asleep fast?

Perhaps a trickery of mind of what I avoid’d times past?

Or meeting a perfect that upon norm would unbelieve – be aghast?

Less the never t’whether imagine or real

Long’d did I to once again something feel

Nestled content upon my o’er dued lap

Ere a maggot’d feast partake of this chap

Bodily dead in a wooden box’d trap

Off afar did moo an unseen bovine

To continue monlogued conversation I did thus give an opine

Perhaps if to you it would see fit to incline

To meet to have a nibble with coffee or even a long dine?

Her eyelids gave a gentile flutter

Which made weak my knees like a summer day’s pat of butter

Yet not a sound emerged again to which I could reply with stutter

For with each muscle she did twitch

It unlock’d yet another hidden wanting switch

The golden solar orb shatter’d moist shelter’d room of outdoors,

the image surround undisolved to clarity misdirected of previous afores

Vivacity of future evaportated with perspire from ope’d pores

as I realized that dissipated was the mist

but the solidity of my new intrigued passion de-insist to exist

Come hath five falls

As yet another doth calls

Each milk’d morn I attend to that field

Where my wound’d heart momentarily heal’d

In hopes that forever it could be given away seal’d


24 thoughts on “Canola Morn

    1. The strange thing is that while it may seem to be about a woman, I have a feeling it is about my first love, politics. At the time this poem came to me I was contemplating running for a council seat in town; I think that my mind was attempting tell me that in political life the electorate like their representatives to have the appearance of saintly-ness. Me, on the other hand, by the time I had reached twenty, no longer had room in my closet for skeletons and had to buy a cemetery. Thanks for stopping by!


    1. Thank you, I never thought about setting the ‘serious’ stuff to music, I’ve always done it on the fluffy stuff – something new to contemplate -thanks!


  1. Reading your words is making me wonder- about a lot of things!! Becoming somewhat stoned and trying to be not bothered et al!!
    Life can be pretty tricky.. Actually it is..

    Wishing you a nice weekend xx


    1. Wondering about things makes life! As for getting somewhat stoned, why the heck would you want people to throw rocks at you? Life is mentally painful enough without offering yourself for physical manifestations of it! Have a great weekend too!


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s