Large moon,
emanating light
through the thin clouds,
and eerie shadows
cast all around.
Enchanting,
yet all the while
haunting.
Shining all
through the night.
Moon, so large,
rising over all.

...

I am Nature I do nurture you all,
To dandle you in love ever I call.
I am mother I hold you in my lap,
I am teacher I teach you see map.

Gap you do not bring among you,
New path I show you walk in dew.
All of you are my children I love,
You are brothers, dear I do glove.

Coming in cycle of birth you fall,
Fondling you I hold up, you tall.
Wall of love shines you all stand,
My lap is bed of affection is land.

Green scene you do see is my veil,
I give crop and fruits as foods sail.
To know God I teach you to sing,
To fly to him you feel mind wing.

You come on wear wisdom as cap,
In my lap resting you dream, nap.
I am Nature I do nurture you all,
To dandle you in love ever I call.

i.


monet's passion written in
whispering tears.
the still lake smoulders
in ripples, all shadows and smoke.

a dragonfly presses the air
into whir, memories in my
pocket saddled to fire.


ii.


the air murmurs with death-shouts.

is this to sink, deep in a dungeon
of opulent blue

or to shimmer, iridescent
like a moon-lamp, empress
of ocean green and river blue
beyond the stilling light.


iii.


this is a bed of decadence
drowned moment of golden fire
in the sipped leaves that trumpet
to the clouds, that this is their day to
die.


iv.


water lily, white light of the pond
following the drowning dark,
flower of drifting quiet,
flower of dream.


v.


root treading past
the stillness of dusk,
utter existence,
daughter of the moon,
daughter of the silence.

that  amaze and delight,

the

abundance of colour,

plants, perfume of history.

it is the sounds among us, the

peering into the poem. it

is the gathering streams

that swell and please.

home grown veg,

then pause to watch

the tadpoles, insects, all

small creatures delight.

it is a large garden.

sbm.

i lean against an oak tree in a glade
to watch apollo fall behind the hill,
the sunlight in the west begins to fade,
as evening closes in, a sudden chill.
the nightingale sings songs of yesterday
an arching song that lifts my spirits high,
the robin in the branches drills a lay,
as sunset breathes and reaches to the sky.
the sunlight falls in opal on the ground,
a song of heaven, darkness has no place,
the world is hushed with hardly any sound
and i can sense her passion and her grace
  and still the sunlight drifting through the leaves,
  holds back the last of day that darkness weaves.

that darkness weaves, that churlish empty sound,
which deafens moments reaching in their gold,
desire or dream, the chains that hold us bound,
the drowning spirit lifts and then is bold.
while nature rests her head upon the land
and bird song fills the avenues of trees,
her vision is ethereal and grand,
a haunting inspiration on the breeze.
i'll echo songs of summer centuries,
that mock and hint their ebony array,
the wind calls out like wild and distant seas
as through the peaceful glade the light of day,  
   that held its last soft breath of falling light,
   in hollow sorrows dreams of quiet night.

the soul finds solace, time enough to rest,
the beauty of the earth is here to see
and where the light still lingers in the west,
i see a glimpse of sweet eternity.
so blindly now the day will sink and fall,
the light that holds the tenderness recedes
and my lost hopes their last enchantment call,
as that last glimpse of daylight leaves the meads.
while questions of the heart flow like a stream,
with tender echoed strings that fall so far,
as cheery revelations clear the dream,
of softly fallen evening's gentle star.
   so with imagination’s dying spark
   the day so leaves us here the tranquil dark.