Pattering droplets
splashing verdant foliage,
dust to clarity.
Category: Nature
Haiku ‘Fresh Air’
The cyclist splashes
through puddles, fighting coastal
winds, soaking, smiling.
Our World
Imagine if we owned our world,
the air that flows to every place,
the turquoise ice upon a mountain,
and all of Nature‘s grace unfurled,
and we, a single human race.
~
Winter snowflakes flurry from the blue,
and settle softly on the morphing land.
The burning sun unveiled, and what a view,
a fresh new world laid out by Nature’s hand.
But then I draw a finger through the snow,
and so can see the pristine white below,
the surface tarnished by Pollution’s stains.
My eyes sting, face tightens, heart pains.
We know we must step up and take the reins
from Dinosaurs with diesel in their veins.
~
We need to close our eyes and dream
and see a future world to be,
for if you love a dream, and others
share it too, you’ll have a team
to help the acorn grow a tree.
~
A helicopter seed, so slowly sinking,
sliding sideways in the scented breeze,
over waving virent foliage, crinkling
water shrouding mirrored lichened trees.
Now wondering out across a leafy pavement,
drawn toward a swarming crowd of cyclists,
gliding forward, dragging wind along.
Flowers. Fresh air. London’s future song.
~
This world is ours, has always been,
though sometimes this can pass unseen,
we helplessly accept our fate,
or realise our choice to make,
just think how it would feel to see
our dreams become reality.
Paintings and Flowers
I saw your paintings, and your flowers,
and I remembered when,
for just a second,
I had not lost hope.
When my long closed eyes
felt a hint of light,
when I felt at long last
my dreams could take flight,
no longer trapped in the past,
with me shrinking behind my disguise.
At times I feel I cannot cope,
yet I have always known, when troubles beckoned,
fresh hopes would follow them.
~
And I am lost
in the beauty
of the paintings
and the flowers.
~
Raindrops on petals, and
art in rusting metals,
fields bursting with colours, and
pictures of never heard album covers,
urban streets, and
tempting retreats,
solitary blooms, and
graffiti ravaged rooms,
the detail of an insect’s eyes, and
infinity found in starry skies,
peaceful scenes of quiet seas, and
poplars leaning in a breeze,
an instant of a bird in flight, and
eternity captured in the camera’s light.
~
And I am lifting in the wind, with the birds in the air,
slowly drifting, I let go, I am free of my care,
swirling through the colours as the land beneath me passes,
twirling with the swallows over fields of waving grasses,
turning to the treetops that look tiny from so high,
churning through the troubled air and spinning through the sky.
~
I cannot change the winds that blow,
to where they take me, I cannot know,
music seeps into my mind,
my worries now lie far behind.
~
I accept control
is beyond my powers.
~
And I dissolve
in the world
through the paintings
and the flowers.
Maybe We Are Alone
The sapphire sky above seems endless,
and sometimes we forget
the vast that lies beyond.
The atmosphere, a fragile film,
the skin upon our pond.
~
Lying still with open eyes,
in dark and windless nights
we listen to the silence.
Our earth is flinging through a void
of blackness, cold and violence.
~
Out there, we feel, we sense, some place,
gentle, warm, like here,
too far to contemplate.
A people there may also feel
alone to face their fate.
~
Are they just one more shining point
of glittering millions sprinkled
through the universe?
A fabric of emerging life,
the cosmos as its nurse?
~
We free our minds, and theorise,
we do some maths and, yes,
there must be many more?
It could be true, and yet we know,
we cannot be so sure.
~
Colossal space, of fleeting time,
we like to think is home
for others who we’ll find,
a seminal discovery
for all of humankind.
~
But in our shifting dreams, we change,
we wonder whether we
could be here on our own.
In fathomless space, we could really be
one light, of life, alone.
Swept Away
I sometimes feel
swept away in a river,
arms flailing, trying to stay afloat,
drawn down and away
from the bank
where soft grasses
and small flowers
drift past, as my body passes
rolling gently,
impotent in its inundating powers.
~
I cannot see.
There could be a kindly tree
dipping a branch where my weak arms could catch it
and clasp, catching my breath,
ready to climb
up through the rushes
and fall on the ground.
Or, as evening hushes,
night sinking,
I may disappear in the widening water without a sound.
You Are The Sun
(A poem from childhood)
In the sky,
with all its millions of stars,
eternally shedding incandescent light,
you are the sun,
for the sun outshines them all,
so you only see them at night.
