Brian Strand, UK
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A Quini of
Quintiles
A Seasonal
Quintile
Spring time
daylight unfolds
soft mist, mild days of
blue-bell glaze, growing wild, neath
God's gaze
and then
hearken
strengthening sun,
resplendent early June—
nature's territorial nesting
chanson
until the
humid
canopy of
butterfly filled July
overlays, sultry August days of
idle bliss
as
Summer
languid, sunfilled
simmering, shaded gold—
lingers, falters, then slowly moves
off-stage.
An Autumn
Quintile
Mare's tails
drifting behind
halo'ed clouds, flecked on
equinox autumnal evening
sunsets—
bringing
bonfired
November, month
of temperatures low,
layered rolls of dank liquid fog,
widespread
over
this earth,
this mortal coil,
seeming complete, fulfilled—
yet each year, new born life, nature
renews.
A Spring Quintile
Brimstones
awaken and
from each flower hover
on the drying April breeze,
sunlit—
as
upward,
body wagging
honey bees flying free
in the bramble, bracken, scramble,
to dance
where,
come June,
blue butterflies
bask long upon cliff tops—
overlooking the ocean, lapping
the shore.
A Quintile
Passion
We had
met and conversed,
a rapport on first sight,
a chance meeting to a life-time's
delight—
that summer
evening
so silken long—
a first encounter of
initiations together
explored—
as our
desire
welled within—
words became a promise
so sublime, to love now, and for
all time.
A Quintile
Delusion
Riches
of this earth seem
infinite-yet human
greed and selfishness brings no
requite
for
treasures
of this world still
tempt and tantalise with
their illusions—yet rarely bring
delight.
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