Tales from the edge of the morning sky

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Night 

Night, 

and the sky 

turns, 

from azure, 

to blue 

to green, 

the first 

of stars

rise,

from a time 

left,

unseen.

And

now,

before 

I sleep

and dream,

the memories

of a future

day,

I look 

instead, 

to the west

and wish,

the dawn

to rise again

upon

tomorrow, 

from the memories 

of today.

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Skylark 

singing

deep, 

high,

in a summer 

of blue,

she unfolds 

the skies 

with birdsong, 

whispering winds 

and wings,

the passing 

of moments 

hidden

from view,

for rare 

is the summer 

so golden,

her skies 

so bright, 

with clouds

sailing, 

across heavens 

of seas, 

and tides

so full  

of life,  

and new, 

so better 

then 

she lifts not 

the dreams 

of tomorrow, 

instead 

keeping 

the now 

high above

and beyond,

in true.

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Storm: the Raven’s Eyes

First the barking 

of dogs, 

the dull distant thud 

of thunder, 

then the calm, 

the wind, 

the hiss 

of distant rain 

before the sudden 

the strike

through the tossing heads 

of trees,

wings blown before

the roaring rage

of collapsing air,

the heated metallic 

magnificent

steel blue grey, 

of the raven’s eyes. 

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Storm: the Raven’s Eyes

First the barking 

of dogs, 

the dull distant thud 

of thunder, 

then the calm, 

the wind, 

the hiss 

of distant rain 

before the sudden 

the strike

through the tossing heads 

of trees,

wings blown before

the roaring rage

of collapsing air,

the heated metallic 

magnificent

steel blue grey, 

of the raven’s eyes 

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Blink

Dawn light 

the morning,

the rise 

of the eastern star

traveling hours 

across the heavens, 

measuring 

where we are, 

one among billions, 

a blue blink 

of an eye, 

across fields 

and meadows 

of time, 

born again 

each day, 

in a chorus, 

of being, 

and becoming 

alive, 

she dreams

from afar.

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At Dusk

From blue, 

to silver 

to the early evening 

skies,

the fall of day, 

the last birds sing 

the first of stars, 

of gloaming, 

the sun slipping 

still further away, 

for it’s warm now, 

the evening wind 

rests 

with a hush, 

the quiet 

of sunset, 

the clouds above 

in pink 

and crimson, 

sail across the ocean 

across tides 

at dusk.

for an open sea, 

is inside of me

my eyes growing weary, 

leaving for dreams 

from afar 

and goodnight 

from the afterglow

and summer, 

this resting sleep

I might

until the fall

of my evening stars.

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Time Rivers

Time rivers 

of sunlight 

across an ocean, 

morning through 

the dawning hours 

of sky, 

cool winds,

pass the fading stars 

of midnight, 

for July watches, 

blinking, 

the days 

of midsummer,

in glory, 

in the lengthening 

of shadows 

hurrying by.

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Hold On!

Hold on 

to the now, 

it’s bigger 

and deeper, 

than what you 

might think, 

for the present 

is more than time, 

more than an eye 

that can blink, 

instead, 

let go 

of the past 

that once 

created your way, 

and worry 

not too much

of the future, 

for nothing

is there yet, 

other than 

what you can 

redeem

from the treasure

you discover

today.

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As the years pass,

the days open 

and close, 

in the meadows 

of seasons 

with the blossom 

of memories, 

amidst our garden 

of flowers,

how beautiful 

it is then

to see

the dawn each

day, the smile 

of life

in the passing 

of silence 

in the hurry

of hours.

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Out of the morning, 

as the sun eclipses 

the shadows 

chasing the birth 

of Morning light, 

are a thousand letters

thrown, 

in handfuls 

across the horizon, 

in flickers 

of wings, 

and tremulous calls 

to fly, 

a rush, 

of starlings 

and swallows, 

spin, 

dart 

and dash, 

in the shimmering blue, 

of dawning skies. 

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