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.