it peppers the skyhammering against the glassa gaoler of light
When to the eye the lens is set It is to anticipateThe grey- pink cloudIt’s signal knownThat robin and blackbird silenced are The Kaleidoscope is turned againGreens to bronzed outlinesClouds to yellowed smokeThen, preceded by a poignant pauseAll nature heldIt comes With forceIn deliberate pulseBeats in the rhythm of the day.
We were warned the forecast said …Yet there’s always a chance – a hope That they’re wrong; Weekends-Held high over five days of graftA goal pursued;Plans? Not really But garden themed-To be out in the light – free to choose, to plant or weed – Connect with the soilI don’t ask for sun – I’mContinue reading “We were warned the Forecast said…”
When the mist languishes down the pane in rivulets of tears, speckling the glass in glistening bubble chains; and the pendulous trees nod and bow in random motion against roar of the wind ;the spume of cloud moves across the sky in an unfurled carpet Of grey; and the moorland ridge is seemingly pellucid andContinue reading “Sunday Morning”