Pink Floyd, when pigs fly.
Putting on a purple flowered shirt
And easing into grandpa’s Knickers,
I strapped sidewalk skates to my feet
Vaulting into glorious free space.
Flying pigs zoomed passed my eyes,
I marveled that they could fly,
Witches on brooms rode round the room
Where giant butterflies covered the sky.
The world was a Pink Floyd dream,
For nothing made any reasonable sense,
And nothing would ever be as it seemed.
©2011, Donald Harbour
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Oh winged creature hued in rainbow light,
Fluttering at the edge of failing sight,
Held aloft upon the soft scented air,
Stirring jasmine and lilac growing there.
I knew you once when I was strong and young,
Frolicking with maidens in the golden sun,
I knew you when my heart beat wild and free,
When blue skies and songbirds surrounded me.
Our springs and summers are not meant to last,
Now dim fading memories of a youthful past,
Night was always such a foreboding distant thing,
Never dreaming the sunset it would bring.
My windows curtained by an ocher gauze of time,
Separating each moment from a life sublime,
Gone the charm with which once I was blessed,
Flown away on the butterfly wings of happiness.
© 2010, Donald Harbour
Donald Harbour Poetry 