Tales from the edge of the morning sky

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Migration (Missiles 

and Wings)

A missile, 

maybe mightily 

and more 

can reach 

the furthest 

ends 

of the earth 

and perhaps 

to the furthest 

ever 

of shores, 

for the dead 

of today, 

will fire it 

anyway, 

and plunge life 

as again 

we will never 

know it, 

to the ends 

of the earth, 

for sure, 

for sure

we won’t 

know it

for sure.

And yet, 

and yet, 

as I look up, 

so high 

and above, 

above half 

of this fragile earth 

and more, 

a single bird flies 

with the heavens 

of sky, 

with wings

open 

to hoping 

and dreams

without doubting

the stupidity

of men 

and 

the questions 

unanswered 

as to 

why.

to why

as to questions

unanswered 

as to why.

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And tonight 

the first frost, 

t’will come 

leafless 

in frozen fogs 

through the shrouded 

hoods 

of skeletal trees, 

behind waves,

hidden,

in the October wind, 

the drifting call

of invisible  seas. 

And from the harbour

of seasons,

the moon rises 

beyond 

the ferrying clouds, 

of skies

the moon blinks 

and blinks again, 

October sails, 

choosing or not

whether to reveal

or weather to hide.

For further still

from across 

the firmament 

of constellations 

time and light 

‘listen,’ 

the wind whispers 

‘take hold 

dear Autumn

of my hand, 

reach out 

to the heavens, 

be with me

and lie with me

sleep with me,

sleep with me

tonight, tonight’

And so slow

to the turning

of seasons

and farewells 

these quiet passing 

of days 

for Autumn is

no more, 

as time turns

and winter 

opens November

to the skies

travelled from

what was past 

to be here 

another year 

but not as before

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After the daylight (Part 1)

After the daylight, 

the evening slips

between seasons, 

caught beneath 

the ghostly glass, 

of summer 

and fall,

for hushed 

are the whispers 

this late afternoon, 

tremblingly in silence 

sown

upon winter 

the last 

scything,

of harvest grain 

for time herself

does weep

and call.

For above 

the first stars 

peel the sky,

to blue 

to grey 

and then to sleep

and  black, 

the late hours 

shiver, 

in the chilling bells 

of darkness, 

mourning the last 

for summer, 

is never,

for looking again, 

or turning back.

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Sun-days 

Sundays

and church bells

chime,

a mid morning call 

to awake, 

earth tilled 

and prepared, 

in  dreams 

of November, 

for springtime, 

sleeping in silence, 

born to create.

And above 

the fields, 

blue sky 

and woodsmoke, 

crows circle 

and call, 

their trees released 

of leaves, 

trembling 

and tumbling, 

memories 

of summer, 

flickering in colour, 

slowly fall.

For beside the river, 

meandering 

in curves, 

with lazy ships, 

clouds 

and sails 

of white, 

upon skies 

of late summer blue, 

autumn, reaches 

deep for lengthening 

shadows, 

and pulls winter 

into darkness anew.

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IU

Evening slips 

into night, 

the hour 

of reflection, 

the window black 

until morning, 

the moon

lost, 

hidden

for I’m missing 

you 

tonight. 

Outside,

it’s colder now, 

the skies filled 

with the promise 

of dreams, 

I’m holding your 

memories 

closer,

imagining you here

your head resting

gently 

with mine,

missing 

you near.

It’s seems 

so long

although 

it was just

an hour 

or two,

since you went

away,

since your sun

sparkled 

across 

my skies

and I love you

was written

across the morning

touched, by 

your smile

always

with you

in my heart 

forever 

and today.

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A Message from this Morning

A message 

from this morning, 

there’s new light 

again to greet 

the dawn 

of an awakening 

day,

hope you ran 

like the wind, 

under the stars 

of heavens, 

moments 

of preciousness, 

moments 

of wonder, 

lifting the sun 

to your eyes, 

dawn once again 

opens her skies, 

and smiles 

upon your footsteps, 

running this way

For igniting 

this dawn 

of all mornings,   

the birth 

of time, 

the rise of the sun

remembered again,

the treasure 

of belonging

the skies 

and awakening life

each day renewed

each life touched 

by life 

possibilities unfold 

chances undone

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Her Umbrella Skies 

She holds it 

upwards,

held by steady hands,

that the wind buffets 

and tosses, 

with the rain 

that thunders 

and roars, 

but beneath 

her canopy 

of stars 

and light, 

is the blue 

of hope,  

her umbrella skies.

Around her 

there are clouds 

of doubt, dark 

and a forgotten light, 

a light that rises 

in eyes of dawn 

to lift the hood 

of darkness away, 

but she laughs 

and shares 

with her life, 

the blue 

of her umbrella skies.

And so with her beauty, 

she smiles 

and listens 

to the changing 

stories 

of the wind, 

tickling with wonder, 

the reminder 

of the treasure, 

the blue morning 

of today, 

a sheltering love, 

beneath 

her umbrella skies.

For hers is the light 

the light 

that whispers, 

golden in the shimmering moments 

of leaves 

and possibilities, 

for those friends 

and loves 

who cherish and hold 

opening their hearts 

to the girl, 

with the umbrella blue 

of her smiling skies.

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Heartbeats (first wings of Dawn) 

Racing, beneath 

the morning, 

the silver screen 

of skies,

pushing 

into the lifting 

darkness, 

no sign 

of autumn rain, 

or summer’s

farewells 

and goodbyes 

For I’m racing 

into the dawn, 

waiting for you

your smile 

to lift the day, 

it’s only been 

a few sunsets, 

but feels like 

the night’s

without the stars, 

have taken you 

so far away. 

And now 

just ahead,

beyond 

the wooded

headlands,

above the tides

and shores,

I can see 

the first light, 

lifting the earth

and upon 

the wings

of mornings, 

and to 

the heavens 

I will rise,

and upon 

your smile

life will soar.

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Here is the News

Here is the news 

today, 

the planets burning 

fires and war, 

we are too steeped 

in fantasy, 

being internet 

connected,

we don’t care 

anymore, 

Keep looking away, 

I say,

Keep looking away.

The real world’s 

crying, 

in tears 

of sky 

and acid rain, 

killing this haven 

of life, 

once gone, 

Mother Earth 

wont keep,

coming back again. 

Keep looking away, 

I say

keep looking away.

The oil fires 

are raging, 

we’re battling 

over lies 

and truths, 

waving our flags 

over graveyards, 

craters of violence, 

the disowned,

abandoned, 

the down trodden 

and abused. 

Looking away, 
they say, 
keep looking away.

We’re addicted 

to power,

ideas, 

cultures and crimes, 

hidden from humanity, tricked 

by our streaming consciences, 

loyalty to politics, 

beliefs and values, 

in the countries 

of the blind.

Looking away, 

they say, 

keep looking away.

Yet still the sun rises, 

the birds migrate 

at the season’s end,  

the months turn under starlight, 

distances, death, 

time and more, 

but eternity 

won’t forgive us 

it’s far too late

Looking away, 

they say, 

keep looking away.

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Marching

Through marching, 

lines 

and ranks 

of maize, 

with corners 

and walls 

against 

the falling skies, 

the shadows lengthen 

the coming darkness, 

the battalions 

of winter, 

in regiments 

on the horizon, 

led by forgotten ghosts 

and ragged flags, 

in fallen reasons 

and forgotten whys,   

and above, 

the moon rises, 

blinded in light 

and lunacy, 

a reminder 

of death 

and watching  

war and hate, 

must never 

in the solitary blue 

of life 

have to be.

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