Dusk Symphony

gentle summer raindrops
drip,
drip, dripping and
dropping
into the open arms of the night.

leaves dancing
under that sweet pitter-patter,
as cool shadows grow
from deep below.

Silence whispers softly
to my soul
and I am helpless
to resist her gentle persuasions
as I drift
deeper into this evening...
an evening more fantastic,
more wonderful,
and more real than any dream.

a time to feel
my magic
growing within....

a time of small miracles.

a time
to let my
love flow



again.

Night Moves

Sky
reflecting Sun's magic
and appeal.

yet Shadow grows longer,
and the air falls
still, absent
of birdsong, yet
pregnant
with the mysteries.



and so
much
more....


imagination begins
to stir
underneath the hedge,

and
between
the gnarled roots of the old tree.


an urge
to dance
tears through my soul.

a need to awaken to the silent rhythms of Night,
and all her hedonistic pleasures...


...to play,
mischievously, and innocently...
to live...

free.

Blackberry’s Kiss


slipping across
soft
and
waiting lips,
so many soft
round globes
bounce like bubbles
along my tongue…

the perfect sweetness of the unkown:
sweet or bitter
drawn, or succulent…

each orb
holding
a tiny promise of
Summer…
and all his
anticipatory delights.

a gorgeous mystery until…..

A thunder of pleasure
explodes
into a happy mouth…..a taste
of stars and suns….

a taste, my love
of all to come.

Opening

a silence is rising.

a storm is gathering.

birds are huddling.

and a fire is rising,
inside.



a deep rumbling rolls across the cool grey sky
echoing perhaps, my own depths…


a flash!
and the tempest breaks.



a deluge

an awakening


oh, what dreams may come….

oh,  what dreams WILL come.

sweet perfection

the rattle of happy windows.

a whirl of bronze and yellow....
scratching,
and rustling.

jasmin and bougainvillea-
vainglorious till the end,
sigh under a cool breeze,
fading with dignity,
into this quilted pageant of decay.

and Night whispers
at midday,
"yes, you already know my name"

you look so fine

traipsing through the treeline...
gliding
with such grace....
or
was that me?


the hearth beckons,
cackling songs of last winter:
lovers' vows of the succour to come...
but i yearn
yet
to touch your ghostly presence
feeling
along my skin in the darkness.


are you ready?

moon so fickle, and now she’s a sickle

i wait
for you, under
cloud littered skies.


i wait,
listening to how Owl flies.


we were to dance,
you and I
until the duende whispered
a final goodbye.


but now
we wait
until that time comes again
when you steal so much fire
from your starry friend,
to light the way for mystery and lore
to crawl through the hedge, and through my front door.