Words

 Windy city
Clouds scud swiftly in a leaden sky,
streetlights and aerials bend and bow,
paper swirls in the air,
whilst tin cans clatter along the concrete
and pigeons shelter in town hall eaves;
Yet all the while,
above the city roofs,
the crows dance and gambol
and ride the wild wind

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City Sun
Light and dark
Stark shadows on grey concrete
Blinding sun reflects from acres of glass
Mirrored, reflected
Casting impossible shadows

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The Mórrígan's Tears
Lady, Lady,
Weep for me
for I am blind,
too blind to see.
A linen square
black as night,
with silver moonlight
lace adorned

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Magpie
One for sorrow,
two for joy,
Is is true,
or just a ploy?
Black and white,
loud and raucous,
or subtly coloured?
Bright eyed stealer,
thief and taker,
or jewel eyed messenger?

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The artists lament

Brush in hand,

paints are ready

acrylic smell

is just so heady

Had a head full of ideas,

wondrous images

now it's like a book

full of blank pages

Here I sit,

broken hearted

Nice blank canvas,

can't get started.

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Artist

I write
I draw
I paint
I stitch

I create

I doubt
I worry
I falter
I hesitate
I criticise

but still I create

 I am an artist

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The Rock

I am a rock,
I stand alone,
Time comes and goes
Events unfold and flow
Over me, around me
Leaving their mark
Some deep
Some barely noticed

I am a rock
I stand alone
Others pass by
Together
Or apart
And sometimes they stop
And look at the rock
Or lean and rest
Before continuing on

I am a rock
I stand
Alone

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Rememberance

We are the dead,
We are the ones who went before.
Once, like you, we were alive,
But that life was gone, in a flash.
The flash of a cannon
Or maybe the crack of a rifle.
We went to battle
Not with pride and hatred,
But with fear and sorrow.
Yet still we went.
And now, we watch from beyond the veil.
We are the dead.
We died for freedom,
For Ours and yours
And now, we say
Live your lives
But don’t forget what we did
And please,
Don’t let the donkeys lead again

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Windy

Pale ghostly shapes ride the currents

gulls, slipping and sliding through the air

on sharp edged wings

The crows gamble and play

dark raggedy wings flexing and twisting

to counter the ever-changing eddies

Pigeons battle headlong, buffeted by constant blasts

driven by the need to feed

like grey suited commuters

It's another blustery day in spring

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 Fractal

Dark splintering shapes against a muted background
A myriad tangled branchings
Ever smaller
Fractal
Punctuated by dark mass at junction points.

Collision theory?
Fractal mathematics?

or old crow nests in bare winter trees?

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 Gulls

Clouds flow in the pre-dawn sky
grey & tattered
trees bend and sway gently
calm in the eye of the storm
and above them, dark shapes
slipping & sliding through the air
silent & graceful
moving without motion
circling and rising in perfect concert
feeling their way gracefully
through the currents and eddies
invisible to us poor earth-bound mortals

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Winter

The Cailleach speaks,
Cruel and cold
"This land is mine,
to have and hold"
Iron earth
Frozen water
Harsh and strident,
Winter’s roar

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Crows

Silent
Dark
Gliding in on still wings
One
Two
More
Why now?
Coincidence?
Or are you truly messengers?
Sent to stir my thoughts
To Open my eyes
And my mind.
Quiet you sit watching
Dark shining eyes
Staring
Piercing
And then, as silently, you're gone
Leaving just thoughts
And questions.
A murder you are
Or should you be called elsewhat?
A puzzle?
A harbinger?
Time will tell
Or The Lady will

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Words

Words
Soft and tender they flow
Like healing balm
Calming
Soothing
Settling gently in the heart

Words
Fiery and passionate they erupt
Like fireworks
Exciting
Enchanting
Dancing in the heart

Words
Sharp and barbed they fly
Like arrows
Piercing,
Wounding,
Burrowing deep in the heart

What words will you use?

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November

Gentle mists swirl imperceptibly
Yellowed leaves tumble in the breeze
as the trees sway lazily
gently moving to the song of the wind.
Dampness hangs in the air
Coating the world with a sheen of water
Bringing a fleeting touch of freshness
To a world in decay.
'tis November

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Tick,
Tick,
Tick,

What's that noise?
It's me
It's you?
Yes.

It's the beat of my heart
Strong and steady,

like a metronome,
measuring the moments in my life.
The sweet, and the sour
the joy and the tears.

Isn't it a beautiful sound
Comforting,
Sweet, sweet heartbeat,

Telling me
I'm Alive!

I think it would get on my nerves..........

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Midwinter

Winter long
Winter deep
Snow and ice
The Cailleach's keep

Mist shrouded morn
Crystal white
Shortest day
Longest night

The land sleeps
Earth rests
Heartbeat slow
Within the breast

Darkness falls
Fires blaze bright
The vigil kept
All through the night

Travellers arrive
To join the feast
And await the Sun
Watching the East

A pale glow
The first soft ray
The sun is risen
Darkness driven away
The land sleeps
Earth rests
Yet heartbeat quickens
Within the breast

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Gale

Clouds scud swiftly in a leaden sky,
leafless trees bend and bow,
whilst pigeons shelter in their skeletal arms;
and all the while,
the crows dance and gambol
and ride the wild wind.

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In memoriam

He sleeps
His pack for a bed
Cold unyielding metal for a pillow.
Cradled in his arms, his rifle,
His constant companion.

Tyres whine on hard road
Metal squeaks and creaks and groans
Canvas slaps in the cold slipstream
The engine sings its song
A steady, monotone lullaby

The lullaby changes
The tyre's whine becomes a rumble
He is aware
Head lifts, hands move, alert
Around him in the dim light others react
Listening, waiting

The truck slows, gears descending
A lurch and he's pushed against the side
The engine growls, speed picks up
Just a bend, just a bend
He relaxes, huddles down

He sleeps,
And listens,
And waits

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Why?

Why?
Why Now?
Why not later?
It's too early, too soon.

The light dims, then flares,
One moment flaring brightly, vibrant, strong,
The next subdued, cool, quiet.

For a moment there's years of life; remembered, to be lived,
The next; 10 minutes, looping, repeated.

The energy returns - sparks fly, struck from each other,
Then the frustration, the tears; the fear.
But all too soon it fades,
Leaving only the looping conversations.

And again I ask,
Why?
Why now?

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Magic

A walk in the silence of a moonlit foggy night
The gentle hiss of falling snow in a silent forest
A hawk's plaintive cry above a deserted moor
The pain of a love so strong it hurts
A streams twinkling laugh as it plays on the rocks
The gay abandon of a barefoot dance in the rain
Ethereal faces in firelight's warm glow
The enchantment of music under a starlit sky
The first bright ray of a Beltaine sunrise
A smile on a gentle face that brightens even the darkest day
The unconditional love in a dog's brown eyes
The rhythmic patter of rain on canvas

My dreams are made from
The first fallen leaves of autumn and the finest winter snowflakes,
the new life of spring and the lazy days of summer,
held together with spider tears and gossamer butterfly wings

In my mind I will
Travel the Web of Wyrd,
following each and every strand,
through the dark and the light,
until I dance with The Lady

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Storm Front

“There’s none so blind” the saying goes,
They’re too concerned with all their woes,
A storm is coming, the sky’s turning black,
“How will I get home, how will I get back?”
They’re too wrapped up, they cannot see,
The beauty that’s in front of me.

As I watch through the window,
From my desk way up high,
I see the clouds gather and darken the sky,
Away to the south, hidden from view,
Where skies are still clear, the Sun shines through,
Bathing the land in its clear golden light,
Opposing the clouds, as black as the night,
Glistening and glinting, off rain filled pools,
How can they not see it, these poor worried fools?

Away to the north, shimmering bright,
A large flock of gulls revel in flight,
Wheeling and turning, as though they were one,
Fading then shining, caught by the sun,
From behind the trees a vision emerges,
Down where the wandering stream converges,
Dazzling white against the black sky,
A beautiful swan starting to fly,
On powerful wings, with poise and with grace,
Why can’t they see what’s in front of their face?

And framing this vision, this visual feast,
A glorious arc from the west to the east,
From red through to violet, the colours so clear,
Cast onto the clouds as they slowly draw near,
This beautiful vision, a sight to behold,
One to remember, even when I grow old.

I grab someone’s arm, “Tell me, what do you see?”
A cursory glance, “looks like rain” says he,
Then back to his work, his screen and his phone,
In this room full of people, am I alone?
I look at the faces, don’t they care, don’t they see?
The beauty of nature, is it just me?

The vision is gone now, washed away by the rain,
But here in my mind it will always remain.