WRITING

POEMS

PROSE

THOUGHTS

                        THE FIRST THING

An early morning clear blue sky breeze,

Sings quite in long sighs through the trees.

High perched black birds sing their clear song

And the chill of the night is finally gone.

Thermaling sea birds have started to leave

And the spider has paused it’s intricate weave.

The tall lacy grasses sway in a dance

And all of the garden is caught in the trance.

There’s a soothing rhythm to the breath of the day,

Felt by leaf, by grass, by the trees as they sway,

And the towing and frowing of the swallowand swift,

On the breeze kissed pond as the ripples all shifts.

On the lawn there’s a sparkle of dew on the grass,

That clings like a film of breath over glass.

There’s a delicate whisper of leaves from the limes

And the tiniest gold crest hops through the pines.

The damsel flies double, dart, dash and dip

And the doves by the pond bow low as they sip.

The rose and the sweet pie perfume the air

Now all of the garden is sun kissed and fair.

                     DARK DAYS

On the dark and the dismal days

when in the mind the conscience plays

into the mirk and fevered maze

Of whats and whys and whens and ifs

of how the sense of future shifts

from a beacon to a beckoning.

When I turn my mind to reckoning

the real worth of my life so short,

all the things I’ve read and thought,

and of all the days I know i ought

not to have squandered them so

wastefully away and nothing done to show.

Then to ask with great hindsight

what truth I’ve found and what i might

learn before my last outward breath

takes me to the truth of death.

But soon I find with sweet reprieve

the darkest halls of doom I leave

and wonder in the realm of dreams

imagining what future schemes

I might plan when i am recovered

and things still to be discovered.

Now the borrowed time i’m living on

with the spectre of my oblivion

has focused my attention on

the truth of life and how I live

Not how I take, but how I give.

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