the tree I loved

I loved this beautiful tree
and often held it in my hands through my balcony
clicked pictures with it in the background
plenty of selfies and everyone acknowledged the greenery that surrounded me 

it's alive still but threadbare now

Its branches are sawed off by neighbours who thought it got in the way

of their beautiful garden to be

which never happened 

for they are a family of three

with grandiose visions with no actuality 

they hardly step out of the house

don't even take their dog out for a walk

their garden which I wish I had 

is strewn with dead leaves and rubbish from everywhere

and there is a large workbench that was a part of their vision once 

to make on it a fence for their garden 

a large box with rusting tools that stays open and collects water, eats dust and dies in the wind 

sits on the bench just as unhappy as the ropes and twines that are now frayed

it could have been more, if they'd let it be

the years have piled up and it looks deceased

it's a cemetery of dead branches still lying from that beautiful tree 

Jubilee

My garnet tinted Thursday

temptingly it ignites into bright red, dose of melting cherries through the cracks 

of a wheedling workday

amongst its non existent contours akin a field flat and fallow

waiting to get lit before it can become fertile

an inert glinting scarlet, dosed with spots of blackening hopes

doused ember with inert desires 

crushed earths of yearly wisdoms caked in slimy carmine

amidst an annual chronology of listed happiness little egrets of time flown by

just before the weekend a momentary lapse in judgement

to begin quantifying 

a day before weekly jubilation a blooming notion in a little bubble 

that hovers above my head holding me accountable 

for all that couldn't be, the dancing flames of bejeweled promises 

turning to stone in daily corners