brighter the day a golden orb alighting a Midas touch Acrylic on board Spent four days trying to get contrasts right and enable the top to talk to the bottom to make it convincing.
Tag Archives: poetry
Walk in the Rain
Streams trickle along the edgeLike miniature fish-scales glisteningCriss crossing Perpetual in motionRibbons on the side of roadOf mirrored tarmac.Head bowedTo the sloshing of Worn gumbootsCoat at saturation pointA haze of mist Spits in the face.Spent grasses flopArched and bowedTiny droplets Hang Cobwebs sparkleColours stay muted In the grey.
Early Dawn
What is it about early dawnThat stirs the soul?The subdued soundThrough blankets of greyEbbs time away from sleepAs a shadow of a batLike a black glovecrosses the window paneI see it oncelike a breath escapedI wait but all in vain As soft lightPermeatesPeeling back the layersOf nightin this thin placeGone
On Holne Moor
They mined for tinBeneath blue skiesWhere skylarks sing And swallows soarAnd call of summer home. Joyous the meadow pipit’s Undulated flight Low over tinner’s spoil Now clothed in gorsePink Heather driftsAlong the edgeOf long forgotten mining lore.Perky, the stonechat pair Bob between bush and mire.He bright and sporting red like hunting pinkShe a modest brownishContinue reading “On Holne Moor”
To Look Above
It gives us joyTo look above To clearnessOf the blue A cloudless skyEarth’s mantleArches over With clarity of vista Drawn deep with searchingThe optic nerve seeks patternsThe wherewithal the heavensAnswers yet unknown Stretch endlessly awayOur vision finiteLost within the blueNo clouded markersNo cairns to mark the wayA thinness stretchedBefore usA wonder Of the beauty ofContinue reading “To Look Above”
No going Back
There’s no going backTo smooth shape- shifting sand The ebb and flow A Light- hung shore There’s no going backTo the transient hazeThe stillness of morning Winter’s lightThere’s no going backThe moment is gone Captured by lensThe now became thenThere’s no going backBlank canvas to start Broad stroke of the brushShape- shifting lineThere’s no goingContinue reading “No going Back”
The Tower
A winding staircase Tread A darkened stepA sunken dish Misshapen Smooth and worn By boots UnseenLight shardsThat danceLike arrowsBowedAs dust motesSpiralIn the miasmatic AirAscendent climbTo lungs release To drink the viewHeld aloft
Spring Contrasts
Pocketed by the glove of fogThe day slips into a world of whiteWhere even the birdsAre silentAnd remain unseen.There’s a pointedness In the roughened fingers of windThat wrap around the western walls Causing slender branches to danceBeneath the misted pane.The old roof nods to the windPassing throughSlates rattle and timbers shiftRain coursesThe ground,a sodden carpetOfContinue reading “Spring Contrasts”
From the Forest Floor
Drawn on whispered breath Of windThe scent of pineOn upturned branchesCaressed by The sentimentOf a winter sunChanneling the Powder blueFunnel of sky.Spent leaves of AutumnSpun into Drifts ofGold carpetCrunchUnder soft feetStartling a wood pigeonBreaking the spell. When we escape the wind, mist and rain that we’ve had all day and venture North East 30 minsContinue reading “From the Forest Floor”
February Mist
When fog hangs over us , as so often it does on the 300 ft contour , why are we always surprised to find a different day as we drop down into the valley? Entrenched, enshroudedIn mist so thick The sun,obscured devoid of lightDarkened boughs hang lowUnder the rain -filled cloudLanes stain redAs mud leachesAndContinue reading “February Mist”
