Who will ever tell or know

the unheard silent echoes

from passing lives laid low:

those ghosts of chanted psalms

once melodious in their praise

lie buried beneath the turf

within walls they helped to raise;

and who can see the cowled monks

whose ghostly whispered prayers

whose canticle or hymn

whispers through the evening's airs -

through the great stone entrance a...

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An almost mystic silence

descends on the lambent, lamb bent,

lamb bobbing fields

as the West sinking sun

leaves an early evening light,

the day has almost passed:

the bright pale green of the new larch buds

the rusty pink brown of the budding almond

the gold of a burgeoning dog wood

are set against

the solid darkness of a solitary fir tree

the soft clouds in a...

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Last night the moon

orange sickle bright

seemed too large, low

hung over hedges

briefly eclipsed

by passing trees

dimmed by

closer light yet

always the lit

rondure

discovered

its umbral orb

to me -

I was driving

in the moondark

night

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5th September 2018

Today

on the drive home

the transcendent wonder

of the clear ice blue rimmed with golden pink

and the blackness of trees

horizon silhouettes

and bats

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My Sunset Haiku [1] as a Sunset Englyn [2]

A green flash from the setting sun - and night

Now sea and sky are one

Dusk from the gold orb is spun

Thus this mystic day is done

______

1.

Where sea and sky meet

                a green flash from the set sun

Lighting distant shores

2.

The Welsh englyn unodl union is a straight one-rhymed englyn consi...

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I find that I must live in a world

Where, between that desperate dusk and a new dawn,

And between many a dawn and its dusk,

The only reality lies in love.

To be in love in that first dawn

And in the dusk, was to feel the sun

Warm our very passion every minute of every hour,

Reality lay only in the other.

And beyond that dreadful dusk, nothing

but dawns and dusk and ...

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