The fire without

The fire without,

red eyed

with the dying of the sun,

looks into the windows

and sees

its reflection.

It is putting on its make-up

for the night.

The tree is in love

The tree is in love

with Autumn

wearing its hearts on its sleeve

in a yellow blush.

Like birds returning to roost

heart-leaves gather;

a warm snuggle,

a smile on the soul.

Nature sparkles

Nature sparkles

like a lit touchpaper,

ready for Autumn

to explode.

Showers

of colour

from tree and shrub

gambol in the wind,

loitering in eddies,

littering paths.

These are

fireworks -

an

arsonist

of

burning imagination.

Jackson Pollock on the beach

Jackson Pollock on the beach:

a wooden canvas on the sand

proud reds and browns

and the pebble dashed

splash of tide.

The blood and scars

of battle with the wind

a spar

that once rode the waves

remains beautiful

in its latter days –

it ‘grows not old

as we grow old.’

This morning

This morning

the orchid is crying;

 flowery tears

litter its base

like mourners

tending a grave.

Footprints

                              Footprints in the snow

                                      the kisses of feet

                             on shallow skin

                                                and

                                                the sinking feeling of love.

31. A joy of magpies (haiku)

A joy of magpies

cackle their chatty gossip

fishwives in the tree.

Q.  Why ‘joy’ when that’s not the collective word for magpies en bloc ? 

A. From the rhyme : ‘one for sorrow, two for joy……..’   (wikipedia)

30. Eucharist

With the aching breaking of dawn

and a shallow sun

the snow begins to shuffle away;

like inverse communion -

turning from holy white

to blasphemous grey

as it gathers

its sin.

29. other tracks

Others have passed this way,

their motives unclear.

They have written their moments

with forensic footfall,

silent evidence,

imprinted in the overnight canvas.

There is no need

to further dust

for prints -

I have a nose

for these

things.

28. Icicles

Hiding in the winter jasmine

travelling earthwards

from lofty roosting

old snow

metamorphoses

drip by tortuous drip

to transparent stalactites

amid the dripping thaw.

27. Fieldfare

With no fanfare,

the flighty fieldfare

foregoes her furtive foraging.

Sentry-settling in nearby tree

she waits at extravagant attention

for the intruder

to pass by.

I have no designs

on her berries,

they have stained her chest.

26 tracks

Deceptive arrows,

about face,

pointing

to history.

Imprints of travel,

snapshots of the journey,

moments preserved, for the moment.

25. The gallery (haiku)

The nightshift artist

painted albino shadows

on perches of birds.

24. tender

tender (haiku)

Brush of lips on skin

paints the warm blush of a smile;

new workings of heart.

23. It is quiet

It is quiet.

The chuckling of truck and carriage,

a silent spectre of another time,

a ghosted memory

smoked into the brickwork.

It is quiet.

The straining of push and pull

skidding steel, the laughter of steam

and the scythe of piston

distant for the while.

It is quiet

in the waiting.

22. Chill crimes

The ripples have been stolen.

Cold, in its stealthy thievery,

has concreted over the lake -

the icy mafia has taken over.

21. Flamingo reeds

Standing proudly,

the reeds

crowd the waters edge

like flamingos at prayer.

20. Churning flow

Churning flow,

threshing white,

scuttling water

and the voracious

clamour

of greedy flood,

cannot steal

the attention

from the spotlight,

sunlight, glow

within the

living water.

The mill stream

powers its journey

beyond the compass

of wheel and cog.

19. Snow comes

Snow comes,

another blanket

seeking to separate;

ignorant of reality -

for you are not there.

You are not enclosed in rotting wood,

nor blessing the soil

by your imprisonment.

We live on

in our different guises,

we live together

in our different space.

We will greet each other,

beyond storm and blizzard,

in the warm embrace

of eternity.

18. pebble ridge

Pebble dashed,
the stucco shoreline
shuffles daily
in tidal disposition.

17. journey

The world passes by
beyond the window,
beyond the unlooking glass.
Transported by thought,
its wheels silent as snow,
for this moment
you travel a parallel universe
of possibilities.
The return ticket
weighs heavy in your hand.

16. Industrial strength choreography

Didn’t I meet you at another dance,

when hungry mouths polka’d

and tango’d,

devouring photosynthesis

and nature’s other prancings.

Laying waste cutwork lace

in intricate entwinements,

we ravenous artisans

share our cottage garden industry.

We jig, in sawing harmony,

in terpsichorean topiary,

unweaving

filigree -

we break-dance  

to oblivion.

15. Jewellery

Beside the tree, the adornment,

not the brief cluster

of festal Christmas

gaudy and hanging over

bright and self proclaiming,

but a smiling choker of ivy,

wearing love upon it.

Hearts trimmed with diamond ice

for the simple occasion -

the betrothal of seeing.

14. grey

The morning wakes

with a yashmak across its face.

Alluring, secretive, promising;

a tinge of a smile

in concealment.

The grey wash of fog

slowly undressing,

dancing its seven veils, 

revealing.

God brings out the water colours.

13. The mystery of tresses

A corn-rainbow of swirl

arced and tumbled

lightly laced coiffeur 

in intelligent grandeur.

I long to flow

in the mystery of your eddies,

slide and glide in your depths -

strands slipping through my hand

like the whisper of fine dry sands.

The crown

of beauty

unsullied by jewel.

Blonde and glistering in the sunlight:

drawing energy in golden dawn

drawing mystery in lazy dusk,

your hair charms me.

Sorceress of emotion,

casting spells in wave and curl

cascading over your shoulder,

I fall to the tsunami

of passion.

12. Lights

Lights,

hanging like foxglove bells,

chime their tune-some luminance

on  winter-grey shoppers

seeking their songs

of sale-time enlightenment.

Few look up to wonder;

the subdued resonance

asks them no questions,

tells them no lies

but rains upon them 

this benefice of perception.

11. the triffid at the door

The triffid at the door

knocks in the wildness of wind

and the soundtrack

of throbbing fear.

I won’t let it in -

it has ten drills.

10. stony faced

Stony faced, you gaze the garden morning;

a tear surveying your eye

mason-dixon mapping

in its descent

the contoured shadow

shrinking in the day's uprising.

Fallen prey to Medusa’s

sculpting,

do you cry from tired regard

of the singular view

to which you are posed,

or the certainty

that nothing moves you ?

9. from hiding

Day comes

ambushing the night

as if unexpected.

Day comes

throwing colours

on the drab canvas

of dawn.

Day comes

sowing the seed

of possibility.

8. Holding on

I will not let you go

though cold and sun conspire.

You, my finger tips,

frost bitten

at the turning of the year.

I will warm you

in the afterglow

of love.

7. stern

With sentry gaze

the gannet fixes

its limpet grip

like the teacher

who breathes pain.

Look into my eyes

the stare demands,

I have you

in my sights.