( sonnet )*

The morning world in mist dissolves and under,
Towed to heaven, we, a plod below the death
Of clouds, sing mute, where they trumpet-glide
Flashing into peace.  Three-toed slabs, parched
Of orange, web the stars over the wine
Dark seas and chalk the churn and twining earth
Into gloaming.  In rapt stillness they,
Are import and income, parables,
Echoes of the innocent song sung to a spire,
Gilded hutches, to those who heap on brightness
Swans are brighter even more with blackest
Eyes, they pierce the silent shroud all starry.
I wish that we were like two swans my love,
Neck of nape, embracing without touch.
.

I am unprepared
when my child asks,
"why have you cursed me
to this life?"
I muster only a shy grin
and ramble some about
dancing and destiny.

winter’s mourn created
a white crystal blown by the
northern wind

dismal sky under a blanket of snow
along with empty trees hybernating,
patiently waiting for spring

mother rabbit hopped
back inside the log
to hug her babies

A group of deer
scavenging on the white field
paused and looked up

There were silence
only the buzz of wind.

Even the owl peeked
but then again closed
his heavy eyelids

A gleam of parhelion
dominated winter’s despair

In that moment,
apricity showered a feast of bliss

There are moments

those little bursts of happiness

you wish could last a lifetime.

Then there’s those longer moments of sadness

you wish would leave

before bedtime.

On those days

(Rare of late)

When a surge of joy

Flows through the veins,

Enjoy the gratitude
Due to life

Gather my colours,
my shapes,
my heat
blend them
and mend them
make them complete.
Discard what offends
whats left you can keep.
I trust in the kindness of you