Magic was in the wind today
for from its drone on my windowpane,
I caught a call,
I knew the tone
and thought I heard your voice again.

Murmurs were in the wind's low moan
for in its whisper toward my pillow,
I heard you talk,
I felt you near
and I lost the dread of being alone.

Mystic the tune in today's brisk wind
for by its song my grief rescinded,
I knew the lilt,
I had you here
and what I heard my heart believed.

Alteration.

As dawn began to steal
on night's unyielding obscurity
penetrant sheen
moved into semi-translucence.
Dark slowly gave way
as multiple rays darted opaquely
to gild the east
with wisps of victorious vapour.
Day lifted sky's shade
then blushing, winked welcome
by tinting pink
flush on a morning's pale breast.
Filigree clouds laced
changing horizon as sun's throne
flickered and shone
in the rising blue of azure dome.
Awed watchers thrilled
when night's shawl, shrugged off
by light's order,
performed alteration never forgot.
While black lightened
and gloom's murk scuttled away
sparks began work
as alchemy turned dark into day.

Today.

Today long stripes of sunlight
split by tree-trunks
lie dappling a meadow where
hills fold down into
patches of sunken creases.

A shaky bridge strides banks
of transparent
water while horizon clenches
tight to itself rows of
cropped-naked poplar trees.

A decorative oak sheds nearly
black-shadow necklace
of rings over dewy landscape
scattering diamanté
glitter curving thru straightness.

A front of pale light floods sky
with azure blue and
falls on cows lined alongside
nearly dried hedgerows
munching cud's first fragrance.

A kingfisher strikes quick end
to a fly in flurry of
colour and puckers of current
cover his exit
with stippled chinkles of music.

Today marches on with astute
unawareness while
I clumsily note-taking notice
oozing from wild
nature its fine-textured beauty.

Racing.

Days run on,bounding over life's hill.
Dash behind haste goads time on further.
Each frantic hour intends keeping still
But in racing along, pace begets ******.

Met are all needs when busy un-bridles.
Quiet rest heals weary saddle-sore self.
If haltered, rush ceases and gallop tires.
As slackening reins never cry out for help.

Staying the ride dismount heady steeds.
Break awhile to pick life's sweet flowers.
Age weighs after taking life at high speed
Yet seizing each moment makes days ours.

Blissing Out.

It is there at the inner edge,
where Self-awareness
meets the ocean of Being
that we can grow most.

There is the real threshold
beyond which lies
a vaster world, tension-free
and universally energetic.

If we allow the two room
to acknowledge and
subtly touch we can begin
the true blissing out.

Breathing feels suddenly
spacious and silence
seems loud, try it and you
will be sure to agree.

It is there at the inner edge,
where Self-awareness
meets the ocean of Being
that we can grow most.

Star Features.

I chased this evening
dusk's fading clouds as sunset's
tin-foil silver ribbony strands tied
granite-grey into lace filigree.

I saw skirts of tinted daytime
wave hazy farewell as billowing
dark's in-coming diamanté display
added pale to moon's rising.

I viewed invasive swathes
pierced with fire-bright sparkles
move sky's face as night's shoulder
pocked holes for star features.

I marked time battling to
win ethereal applause and sighed
as striated breath-taking shades took
central stage before day expired.