Poetry by Nicole Olmos Pervaiz

 

 

Oh we tripped, tripped on morning, restless motions settled on sofa, waiting to be woken

Oh we tread, we tread on paths reworked and eternally re-molded, ready for renewal

solitary swimmer, pondering ponds, water lily pads, paddling, quite alone in murky waters

thick with moss, and grime and green, thick with longing, to be woken and wide eyed

enclosed, in the seduction of coolness, of dripping hair strands, strangled by Victorian floating rings

who has rested waiting passing, watching women soaked to cold sweats, enthused by contracted chests

all in gasp, all in motion, all in limbs disjointed and numb feeling, slow mental healing

rain dipped its paintbrush in the ink of murk, leaving rippling rails for strangers to swim

surrounded close by chestnut trees and walk by faces, hidden in clouded shadow

sky mirrored moss murk, mirrored wet faced expressions of joyful agony

mirrored life guard sitters, drinking warm teas in jumpers, utterly action-less

and she small girl sitting through the rain painting distant trees

as though they could be reproduced

as though the moment itself could be captured

as though the cold could drip off skin to touch toes,

to seep back into the black bliss waters it belongs

 

 

 

 


Image by Rebecca Reid

May 14, 2018
Ph: Rebecca Reid

Poetry by Nicole Olmos Pervaiz

Poetry by Nicole Olmos Pervaiz