Tales from the edge of the morning sky

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Easter morning

Easter morning, 

new sunlight

new life, 

across the awakening hours, 

blossom and birdsong 

greet the dawn 

of light, above 

the tumbling skies

and passing doubts

of showers.

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A (mostly) weekly episode. 

‘…he was a tall, thin one, born of the first of trees, a creature who had been twisted by the wind, awakened into himself…’

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In Silence for the fallen.

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Once upon a time, there were fewer and fewer words in the world. Every tree was bare of leaves, every stream empty of songs, every house without windows. The earth was dark and cold…

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Dawn

Dawn slips 

from her shoulders, 

the morning clouds 

of a passing night, 

she calls for the stars, 

holds them close

the sun,

the smile,

the coming 

of life.

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Being there

Something passing 

through this place, 

a hush 

of silence, 

this morning air, 

snow, 

light, 

and emptiness, 

for dreams 

and belonging, 

just one song 

of spring 

and life,

is singing,

being there

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West

Sunlight fading, 

the baroque colored 

clouds, 

clearing above 

the western edges, 

beneath the windswept evening, 

the deepening hush,  

of twilight skies, 

and 

into the silence,

along the deserted path, 

beneath 

the early blossom

beautiful 

upon the

springtime

trees,

ripples 

a stream 

beside me, 

hearing my words

with her laughter

and my footsteps 

I walk 

along 

the choosing

of ways,

as slowly,

with all my futures

she sings 

of time

and softly, 

weaving present

and past

behind me,

she gently 

leaves.

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Taking Flight

Sitting here 

awaiting silence, 

for the curtain call

of Dawn, 

I see the skies 

above, 

a stretching blue 

of silver, 

alive with wings 

and song, 

for as the last 

of night

lies sleeping,

her stars

fading

into another 

opening 

day,

I just listen

to the world 

awakening, 

blessed with life, 

no thoughts, 

just moments, 

lifting my dreams

from early doubts,

taking flight,

from shadows 

of morning grey.

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The laughter of leaves

I think if I chased them, 

too seriously 

perhaps, 

all the words

that is, 

like autumn leaves, 

blown from

the tall thoughts 

that stretch 

from my mind,

like the gentle giants

of metaphor trees, 

a hundred thoughts,

a thousand thoughts, 

all skipping 

across the unknown road, 

the bends and curves 

in the landscapes, 

and connections 

of similes 

of all the futures 

in memories, 

that lie hidden

yet to be seen 

(but perhaps, 

or just simply, 

excitingly,

awaiting 

to be discovered

in the road ahead), 

I think I’d forget

the changing sky 

of now

the seasons 

of life

the dawns 

and sunrises 

and fall over my feet 

with their laughter

instead  

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English Day

Rain, grey, 

the wind 

whispers, 

above abandoned trees, 

dawn slips 

over huddled rooftops, 

another English day, 

windows blinking, 

street lamps 

swaying, 

spring waits, 

sleeping, 

dreaming 

in the early darkness, 

winter crouching

shadows fading

morning drizzle,

slipping away

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