Tales from the edge of the morning sky

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Night

Dawn thins, 

with invisible brushes 

of light and sky, 

the clouds 

luminous islands 

shimmer between 

the shadows 

of night 

and morning’s 

awakening eye, 

and below 

in the city, 

street lights flicker, 

cars chase 

the quickening 

passage 

the hurrying 

of time, 

though silent 

is the bell tower, 

above the market

the queues 

of rooks 

upon the rooftops, 

black as night,

hidden, 

and as blind.

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Twin stars

The two 

are above, 

the night,

the twilight,

shadows 

of the fading 

past, 

the afterglow 

of daylight 

fading fast, 

for it’s 

a long way 

home, 

upon the winding 

and empty 

country lane, 

a long way 

into the distance,

‘afore I see 

you again.

And as 

the night 

draws charcoal 

and slate 

across 

the evening 

skies, 

I’ll keep journeying 

homewards 

until 

I see again

the sunlight,

of your smiling,

morning eyes.

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I awakened

this morning, 

to a light 

falling of skies, 

with thoughts 

of life,

amidst flurries 

of grey

and  snow, 

for dawn lay 

still sleeping

hidden behind 

the clouds 

of grey 

and doubt, 

for Spring, 

she lay sleeping, 

the birds hushed, 

and silent, 

as only 

the wind 

listening, 

to her breathing 

soft and gentle, 

only the wind

can wait

for Spring 

and know.

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Daylight and Blue

Daylight and blue, 

morning skies 

lifting the grey, 

I’m thinking 

of you, 

I’m leaving now, 

closing the dawn, 

taking my eyes 

to the road, 

missing you more, 

The morning sun’s

dancing, 

on the pathway ahead, 

I’d thought I’d stay 

for longer, 

but you let me 

go instead, 

I can see 

in the distance, 

your smile 

coming my way, 

it’s been a long time 

I’ve seen you, 

since I walked

through this way, 

there’s an oak 

on the corner, 

above the bench 

where we made love, 

can’t remember 

what happened next, 

knowing what 

I know now, 

I should, 

For I’m walking 

where time 

passed 

in someone else’s 

hands, wishing 

I was lying

down with you, 

in the quiet 

of the graveyard, 

instead of walking 

alone, in these 

empty lands.

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She knows…

She knows 

I left this morning, 

out of the door, 

along the path, 

across the garden, 

walking the avenue, 

the moon was up, 

the sky, low, 

clouds chasing 

the tails 

of winter, 

for forgotten,

is the shadow

of yesterday 

the falling memory 

of winter snow, 

The house lights

were blinking, 

busy with awakening 

kitchens, bedrooms 

and bathrooms,

whilst outside,

I walked, 

she watched me, 

listening to the wind,

 catching my thoughts, 

ready to meet me, 

and open the day 

with her morning 

song and call, 

And so I stopped, 

just for a few,

quiet moments 

under the lamppost, 

the pale light 

above me, 

surrounded, still, 

by the morning dark 

and then I  saw her,

her silhouette,

upon the chimney, 

shuffling nervously, 

flapping her wings 

genteelly, 

waiting for some sign, 

some signal, 

a moment,like mine, 

to greet 

an expected dawn, 

For then 

I walked 

away from 

the lamp light, 

away from 

the road, 

walked,

along the path, 

over the footbridge, 

by the invisible rush 

and babble 

of the stream, 

under the walnut tree, 

past the broken fence, 

and waited,

in the last 

of the night, 

his wings still 

silent and dark, 

She flew beside me, 

sometimes hopping 

from branch 

to branch, 

we both stopped, 

and there it was, 

a crease, 

a fold, 

a band 

of light,

above the forest, 

splitting night 

from day, 

the daring glimpse 

of sky, for then 

she sang 

as if the world 

was born anew, 

and so I danced, 

with gladness 

knowing in my heart,

each day,

is born of the last, 

each moment 

as precious 

as truth,

the truth of light 

upon every leaf, 

branch,

every blade 

of quivering grass, 

I didn’t need to think, 

to believe 

or wonder, 

I just knew.

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Storm

Storm winds, 

seas and skies, 

a single crow 

barks, cries,

cries,

against the dawn, 

wings flapping, 

cawing blindly 

standing alone,

in the rising floods 

and Easter tides.

And here, 

leagues and miles,

from the wave 

tossed turbulence 

of coast and shore, 

the trees 

bend, twist, 

and turn, 

as early March 

crashes in tides,

invisibly upon

roof, town, 

wood and morn. 

For though

they shake 

and tremble, 

from the blast 

holding safe,

the still sleeping 

form of Spring,

the deeper forest 

whispers to April

deep and dreaming

‘Come along! 

Come along 

along! For

the awakening!’

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Before (the Flood)

Before the flood, 

the pouring evening, 

the dancing silhouettes 

of falling rain, 

before the rooftops 

glisten, 

before the gutters 

gurgle, 

before the puddles 

blink and simmer 

with invisible needles 

of a boiling, 

bursting schism 

of splintering sky, 

take a walk 

beneath the wind 

beneath the beaten 

smoothness 

of the steel grey 

of clouds, 

feel the wind 

gathering 

in invisible knots 

in the fisted hands 

of trees, 

the stone flight 

suddenness 

of the rock wing 

lift of birds,  

all thrown against 

the approaching 

unseen,

the weather wall, 

feel the dull distant 

thud of the pressure 

dropping press 

of westerly air,

upon your face, 

for then you will know 

know that Spring 

is stirring, 

awakening, 

lifting light 

and warmth, 

catching, embracing 

the lengthening promise 

of April days ahead, 

After the coming 

of rain.

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Ruins

And tonight 

the stars 

are deep 

in the March 

dark and cold, 

the distant skies, 

sparkling, each 

in diamonds 

of time, 

yet still 

in the heavens, 

of the past 

that winter continues

to tightly hold.

For beyond 

and above,

what lies below, 

across the forest 

the edges, 

shimmering 

in blues, 

opalescent 

and silver greys, 

the abandoned 

rooftops, 

the crooked, 

sagging, 

and unanswered 

telephone lines, 

the church steeple,

points at the clock 

the tower, 

the forgotten echoes, 

the hourly life 

of abandoned 

and former 

times.

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The Last Dark

In the last

dark, 

of peace 

and morning, 

beneath an 

empty black 

of sky, 

the moon slips 

from the fading 

heavens, 

with dawn 

so lovely 

through 

his weeping,

tearful 

and smiling 

eyes.

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Travelling (home)

Travelling back, 

to a place 

I used to call home, 

listening to old music, 

guitar and voices, 

bringing me back, 

from feeling alone

Outside, 

the darkness 

is closing, 

inside, 

I’m sitting on a train, 

rushing, 

hurrying,

passing me by, 

watching it all 

For it seems 

a while 

since I’ve come 

through this way, 

left a few tears 

since then, under 

this forgotten sky, 

maybe I left

to forget,

only now

to  remember, 

the passing 

of what was

only once,

this future,

this day.

But I’m tired 

now, 

the hours 

and days 

like leaves 

spinning 

into years,

years

that just seem

to fall, 

‘cause

it’s beginning to feel

like autumn, 

nights getting longer, 

starting to feel 

the cold, 

the rain,

it’s fallen’ again

just trying,

trying to remember 

what was,

trying to recall

But I have you

right here, 

beside me,

I can hold 

your hand tight, 

keeps me 

from falling 

behind, 

the seasons 

have passed 

so quickly, 

not taking 

those chances, 

those opportunities, 

makin’ me blind, 

to the fading

of night

Getting nearer 

now, 

my train 

my time,

is slowing down, 

coming to the station, 

looking through 

the window, 

empty 

of nothing, 

but memories,

seems no one 

is around,

Hearing again,

the whistle, 

fading, 

walking along 

the footpaths, 

reading life

between the lines 

between 

the open trees, 

the familiar windows, 

more quickly now,

for time’s

pulling away,

but no one’s looking, 

no one leaves,

no one’s remembered, 

since I left this place, 

at the end 

of another journey,

that led 

from forever

back to today.

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