Lynn White

Coupled

Every year in March

our frogs have a party,

more of an orgy really.

But this year

there were two late comers,

a loving couple

who waited

until after the party was over.

Lily and Henry were their given names

and come the summer

we delighted to see

their offspring 

swimming

up and down our pond,

all those tiny Lilys and Henrys

growing ready for next year’s party.

Wild Fruit

I like the wild berries best.

Juice spilling over.

Bursting,

staining my tongue purple

or my lips red.

Each one a new sensation.

A little harder to come by,

than the bland clones,

the cultivars.

A bit more of a struggle.

And, it must be said,

not always sweet.

One never knows

with these wild fruits.

With each taste comes

a surprise.

Spit out the sour,

take in the sweet.

Such joy!

Oh yes!

the wild berries are the best.

First Published in The Dawntreader, Summer 2015

Sweet Heart

He’d seen it glint earlier

when a shaft of light hit

the open box.

He kept watch till they left.

Back now, still watchful.

Turn his head this way,

then that. 

No cats.

No humans.

Upturned the box 

and seized his prize

glinting gold among the dull

browns and creams.

Carried it off.

Then carried it home,

a home now fit for his new lover,

his sweet heart.

But he didn’t unwrap it.

Didn’t discover the greater prize

lying under the surface glitter.

Didn’t find the jewel 

of sweetness in the centre.

Soon life dulled the surface glitter,

screwed it up.

And  the sweet heart 

melted in the warmth,

Melted into sticky goo.

Melted away as

sweet hearts do.

First published in Harbinger Asylum, Literary Review, October, 2015