The light fades slowly on the horizon
like a farewell, hesitant and forlorn
and the night is born with no hurry to be night
lost in the shadows of what’s yet to be drawn

There’s something in the air, a gentle sigh
an unseen movement drifting through the trees
a secret vanishing with the breeze
perhaps a memory that never learned to fly

Words may fade
but silences still hold their weig...

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My love changes with the dark

The breezy bright morning girl begins to doubt

Shadows casting through her crowded mind

Memories opened like ancient crypts

Fear flies into anger and dismay 

But let me show you my lady of the light 

Bouncing, shinning, beaming and laughing her infectious laugh

Fast thoughts, feelings, crackling into outer and inner space

Passion 

I will be ...

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Rain in itself is an emotion.

For some emotion of love and romance,

for others emotion of sadness by chance,

but for me, it's an emotion of calmness, I stance.

In those time of rain, 

electricity goes away,

cold winds began to slay.

Forcing me to say;

I love this day.

In those times of rain,

days seem to be dull

but the breeze acts as a pull.

Plants be...

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Sycamore leaves dance

In only the lightest breeze

They never turn askance

Like leaves on other trees

Sycamore leaves flair

Within their perfect ballet

In just the lightest air

Blowing up the valley

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This poem carries faint echoes of winter in a Mediterranean climate, in this case the South West of Western Australia; limpid skies, stormclouds threatening, people in overcoats walking hastily. Rather like an English summer, I would have thought!

And Now I'm Old

And now I'm old as softening apples

left forgotten on a sideboard

after a windy day,

the murmur of the evening room

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The flow I enjoy to come and go,

As I please with or against the breeze,

Like water flowing without the resistance,

Of opportunities for autographs or selfies

It is the privilege of the obscure majority,

To live without resistance to our liquidity,

To not owe every gratitude to new found difficulties,

I don't want fame, let me stay a minority.

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Swaying flowers,

passing hours,

birds in evergreens

happy smiles,

worth your whiles

and sappy little trees

muddy faces,

fraying laces,

and a gentle summer breeze

swaying flowers,

passing hours,

making memories

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