At day’s end

An evening like so many others,
too many passed to ever count,
pointing at the clouds that rib the sandy sky
in the blue and gold of end of day.

Too many passed to ever count,
the days we’ve shared, the nights,
and the different child hands that we’ve held,

pointing at the clouds that rib the sandy sky.
The ocean above we paddle, light as laughter,
sailing our full barque where songbirds flit

in the blue and gold at end of day,
apple light of moon and sun,
where evening’s done and all our dreams begun.

One year

I gathered petals from the roses,
ones they didn’t mind too much,
sending on a long sea voyage.

I gathered, as you asked, the palest,
white and dawn pink, scented still,
and heart shapes fallen from the dog rose,

in a basket, took it down
to where the stream runs deep and noisy
underneath the alder trees.

You asked I toss upon the water
palest petals from the rose
and send them down to join the river,

join the distant ocean shore
and mingle with the deep sea secrets,
thoughts and gentle scented tears.

I scattered petals on the water,
running down to join the sea,
full blown and yet unspoiled their beauty,

It’s what he’d like, you said to me,
sweet rose eternal on the river
that runs forever to the sea.

July 4th

It’s our wedding anniversary today and the weather is finally starting to settle down. We took a picnic out, all the way to… the plum tree.

house and picnic table

picnic table

and we had our first pan bagnat of the year

pan bagnat

Finbar was tied up just in case he decided to run off, but I think those days are over. He’s getting very sensible in his old age.

Finbar 4 July

Trixie didn’t move from the chair she’s appropriated.

Trixie's chair

Ninnie got as far as the doormat.

Ninnie on doormat

It’s a good thing we don’t crave excitement.

Anniversary

 

Fourth of July,

a day for weddings

and collecting memories to span a lifetime.

A day to remember the foundations of things,

hot and leafy in the park,

photos and well-wishes.

Parades of marching men

and weapons of destruction

leave their dusty trail in another world.

In this sky, brazen in the heat,

only birds shriek their threats and war cries.

October 27: Haibun for a mother

 

This day is yours, always will be, forever and ever. I never knew how you envisaged it, the place beyond the veil, or if you ever did, content with just the contemplation aspect and the praising, being religious and a singer. But I have my ideas, my hopes, that your green fields will be greener, the wind carry you, soft as a spring day, and love wash you in an endless tide.

Wind blows feather soft

over these hills, these meadows,

a bright memory

Wedding Day

Painting by Odilon Redon

Odilon_Redon_-_Der_Wagen_des_Apolls

The sun beat down on that day too,
Blue sky throbbing, silver-sheened.
Preened, we two in new-bought attire,
Fire in the heavens and in our faces.
Places taken, side by side,
Pride glowing, new wings spreading,
Shedding the doubts and the fears.
Years we saw of a future shared,
Dared to dream, a bright mist shimmering,
Glimmering lights, star-tailed,
White-sailed and filled with moonlight,
Nightlight, dawnlight, and all the rainbow-coloured cloudlight.
Bright as mountain streams,
Dreams, we painted, ethereal, fledgling-fragile,
Volatile as grey-winged gulls, storm-scattered,
Battered by the winds and settled in our arms, to unfold
Untold joys, fierce as stars, to light our way,
Day after day, until falls the endless night.

Thoughts on a wedding anniversary

1280px-The_Aurora_Borealis_or_Northern_Lights_shine_above_Bear_Lake_in_Alaska_050910-F-MS415-009

This day dawns, so like to all that have come before,
The sun rises in the east as it has ever done
Since the first notes of the song of earth’s creation thrummed
And the bright threads that make its beauty were first spun.
So many years that you have watched with me
Our time together such a little thing
A mere blink of the great celestial eye,
Brief fluttering of an ephemeral wing
In the ticking of the universal clock.
Yet when you take my hand and look into my heart
To offer me all that you have left to give,
I would not exchange my one hot breath of the pulsing earth,
These microscopic years that we have yet to live,
My life, my shooting star, my comet-tailed love,
For aeons of floating in the pure, cold light of the stars.