River of stones

A river of small stones,

the flocking crowd of thought,

pebble-dashes the shoreline.

The imagination estuary

a playground without boundary

varnished by the caress

of tidal dreams.

Foundling

Alone and downy

tired heartbeats pulsing life;

this flight is easy.

Brink

Teetering on the brink of sleep,
when fascination and fantasy
creep between the sheets
of the unmade bed of imagination,
I hold you close
and pray for dreaming.

Directions

 

When destination is undefined,

target indeterminate,

the arrowed words

upon a post

give no recommendation.

The wanderer

has far to go.

Compline

Evening contemplation,

the sun’s amazing grace

in early compline 

prays a benediction

on the day.

Silent now

Links to the past,

anchors away,

how many lives

have you held fast

in ripping tides ?

Silent now

your clanking tasks

whisper redundancy

Dune path

Pathway to the sky

testament to straggled footfall,

softly broken falls,

and the laughter of children,

it creeps slowly

to meet sky and sea.

Rock pool

Abandoned by the tide,

limpid microscope,

glassy mirror to the sky,

the rock pool

looks both ways.

A song unsung

A song unsung

on a diminished stave

waiting for the conductor

to tap attention.

Evacuees on aerial platforms

anticipate the whistle of a train.

The birds chorus together

for the hymn of flight.

Unsat

Wind swept sleeping leaves

curl upon an empty seat

while leaching sunlight

searches for its place to rest

and evening casts a lazy eye 

over the horizon.

Polperro between tides

In the ebbed waiting

the unslept maul of gull cry

sweeps through cottage clusters

like a returning tide.

The rock eye

The rock eye,

a solitary view,

its glance fixed focus

and looking only in.

Never blinking

but tidal tears

wash away

the daily dirt.

Voices

The maw of rock,

facet blustered by salt and wind,

calls for silence in its eternity

and waits for the echo of gulls.

Winter prayer

The tree bears prayers;

an answering breath of God

considers the wind.

Sounding on the wind

small voice on the breeze

bamboo woodwind whispering

timeless cypher songs

Roots

The arboreal arbour

chooses to embrace

dust and debris,

drawing me into its

lumbering arms.

webbed

A constellation, delicate,

dangerously beautiful

an ambush for the unwary

traps my eye.  

Looking out

A tiled and cobbled outlook

on the pleasantness of life;

the journey 

beyond the threshold,

beyond the door,

beyond the wall,

has its own horizon.

Touched and touching

Turn and turn about

the intermeshing of lives -

gears moving onward.

Your movement moves me,

we may scrape against each other,

but touched and touching

life changes.

Direction Haiku

While light draws the eye

the path wrestles to a gate:

the challenge of choice.

They speak rivers

They speak rivers;

their torrent flow

a rush of rage

uncontrolled.

In their wake,

the slime and waste

of vitriol

sullies and taints.

They are blind

these who only see

their own reflection.

Ice cycle

Chilled finger day

raw with ice

sculpts its own

masterpiece

before warming conforming

normality

steals

from this gallery

and abstract art

cries real tears.

Morning haiku

Morning sun kisses -

a warm breath in frosted air

lighting rosey cheeks.

Angel wings

Gracing the water

with your feathered touch,

beauty smiles.

When you were made

in the cauldron of eternity

He gave you angel wings.

So soon

And, so soon, it’s all over:

excited stars unplugged,

tinselled leaves laid bare,

mangers vacated

for the child of Easter

and the crowing

and the crowning

of eternity.

The sea claps

The sea claps,

its foamy fingers

course to the shore

in a moondance

to its creator.

A moment frozen

A moment frozen;

delight for words

beyond words -

books,

books,

wow.

Rusted

Neglected, shadow

icing topped, nowhere to go;

yesterday’s wreckage

is covered in snow.

But there’s rusted beauty

in all things

touched with grace.

A children's park in Winter

Icy fingers grip the children’s swings -

frosted slide stands empty.

Too cold for unwrapped play,

Hamelin silence ghosts the park.

Memories of childhood

climb and stumble

filling the empty spaces -
time rats.

whimstone

A whimstone ponders,

basking like a shore held seal

thinking tidal thoughts.