I'm excited to share that my poem "Fall on the Campbell River, redux" has been published by the League of Canadian Poets in their chapbook "Splendor of Wings" featuring the works of poets over 65 https://poets.ca/splendor-of-wings/@poets#PoetryCommunity#poetry
Silvery grey
A strong wind
Blows from the west
Slows my progress.
Im on the edge of sunlight
A watery shadow
Moves before me
Stretching out
Over the wall
Over to where
The Curlews call
In soft whispers
To treasures
Hidden in buttercups
Rusty dock and sorrel
Skylarks are singing
Over the yarrow.
And time is flying
Hurtling headlong
Into mid-summer #poetry
And there I was
Complaining
about the strength of the wind
It being the end of May
And all,
And then I noticed
The lustrous leaves
Of my moorland oak
Reaching out to me
As if to say
We've been through worse
Together
I'm inspired
By the tenacity of tree
And the spirit
Of the heart of oak.
The Curlew calls
Her treasures home
And I fly
With the Swallows. #poetry
there are the old tales
of the man who went for smokes
and never returned
as if it was that easy
afraid of laughter
in case it turned showery
caressing with smoke
lungs that gave up long ago
filled with that small joy
and he said, 'fuck it', and went
elsewhere, far beyond
the reach of life's pain and hope
as if his long trail
of lived days led to one choice
as if it wasn't
the weight of so much choosing
that crushed him to a fine dust
snug door
storm trapped outside
the shape of you in the darkness
our bones still humming to the tyres
skin patterned by stitched seats
eyes busy with back projections rolling
hands full wet clothes puddled
somewhere it is morning
there are people on their way to work
this is the stolen place between lies
where we can be true
light switch hidden but not needed
rain picking at the roof
wind wrestling the branches
peace in the darkness
and then they cut you
like you were the pattern bits
and not the pinned-to fabric
defining edges
from where no edges had been
before hungry scissors snipped
Until our sun
Swells out of
Main sequence
Swallowing the
Earth whole.
Until the heat
Death of the
Universe,
The firmament
Erased.
How deep,
My love,
Is eternity?
On the other
Side of which
I will still
Recognize
Your face.
A grey morning
Dark, almost twilight,
On the very edges of things
The distance between now
And the beautiful days.
Absence and presence
Noticing not noticing
And there you are
As if from my dreams
Ghostlike and wandering
Wonder in your dark eyes
Floating silent and free
Over golden buttercups
And soft chervil tops
And I am with you
We're flying together
Far away
Over a distant meadow
No longer dreaming #poetry
I have two volumes of my poetry availiable for sale at the link below! 2 copies of Disremembering and 4 copies of Threnody left! Get them before they’re gone! And thank you for your support! 🖤https://www.nihtgengapress.com/category/poetry
Dark clouds sailing
Dark Rooks gathering
On muck-spread stubble
Little islands of sunshine
Light up the hills
In fortunate places
Always moving
Along with the breeze
And I know I'll be lucky
There's rain in the valley
But my way is clear
Skylarks flooding my head
With beautiful music
And my joy at the summit
A golden Curlew
Lit by the morning
So close I could touch her
On my own little island
Of silver sunlight. #poetry
A moment on this Earth to live, to die,<br></br>as real and unrelenting as a dream;<br></br>phenomena and phantoms pass us by,<br></br>as empty of importance as they seem.<br></br><br></br>We are by choice beneath illusion’s sway,<br></br>our shadowed spirits subject to a whim –<br></br>each phantom a reflection, in its way,<br></br>upon a mirror desolate and dim.<br></br><br></br>One moment we are hidden in a crowd,<br></br>another we go lonely to the grave;<br></br>but ere we don the ceremonial shroud,<br></br>we glimpse the bright reflection that we crave:<br></br>that phantoms, hidden by the dream-world’s mist,<br></br>reveal a fellow dreamer’s lips when kissed.<br></br>
This is beauty
A warm southerly
Like the breath of a lover
Leading me gently
To where I will go
Sweet air
Aniseed spiced
Fennel and chervil
Dandelion clocks
Shine between buttercups
Golden glowing
All along my going
Up to where skylarks
Whisper their prayers
In the cloisters of heaven
Echoing so clearly
in the so gentle quiet
Of a soft summer morning. #poetry
