Backyard In The Morning When Thinking About My Mum


Blue dog has brown eyes

Love is a fact.


Sneaky birds stand tall.


Blue dog sniffs the tree, scratches with her paw,


stretching she turns her attention to froth at

the bottom of my cup.




Clothes relax on the line


broken gun


just colour now and fluorescent lizard


on his back

somehow intact.


Feathered people talk and sing


a tired Babylon fell today.


What’s up there in the purple tree?

green leaves?



Not really, not if I stretch my legs and climb.


Foliage like spoons or fingers…..





I am the morning

nothing is really still.


The air is a soupy book.


Some say god made it

I say,

It was my Mum.









Published by The Silver Poet

I AM a little spark in the sea of conscious awareness. I am passionate about bringing the concept of freedom of expression into the forefront of our one mind and a keen awareness of personal power to the hearts of little children everywhere. I exist to express!

11 thoughts on “Backyard In The Morning When Thinking About My Mum

    1. you just made me go googling Joe 90. It sounds like a great show, I don’t think we got it in Australia….maybe but I’ve never heard of it….
      we are one being so surely, my mind is at your disposal!
      I LOVE that you like that line x


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

Silver Poetry

All That Glitters Is Not Gold

Unfettered BS

it is all just bullshit anyway.....


Your Brain is a Radio that Does What its Told

Post Scriptum Poets

Haikus Senryus and Tankas about anything and everything

InkBlots and IceBergs

musings on life | bits of psychology | attempts at poetry

This and That

In other countries individuals go to jail and/or die for weblogging. While the bulk of this country makes the internet an extention of T.V.


Scripting the desires that are soul deep

Finely Spun


cosmos reflection

poetry that speaks to you

Africa Zwelibanzi

The Poetry Monarch.

Jeffrey Pillow

Life, death, and everything in between



Purple Haze

Darkness, delusion, smeared with a stick of butter and laughter. Words collide, they bring forth death!

The Lonely Author

Pain goes in, love comes out.

The Realm

well, come on in. bite. chew. spit.

%d bloggers like this: