What if


What if this morning were to be the last,

sheathed in rain,

unsheathed steel gleaming in the sky?

Would I take more joy in the head-high fescue

that overarches buttercup suns

and the blue skies of flax?


(A deer gallops into the meadow; russet force treading the misty white and yellow, hidden from sight where the willows and dogwoods grow rooted in frog water. Another minute, head turned in distraction, and I would never have known. These presences occupiers of this space where we walk, grim-footed with our measures and fence posts, quiver between the seen and unseen of this interlude).


And if the dark gripped tighter

and dragged us deeper away from the light,

would I still feel the touch of your hand,

soft and thorny as the dog rose flowers,

winding through the hibiscus?


more pyramids


specked with gold

dappled with the light and shade

of orioles’ calls

the rich rolling taste

of warm sun

on night damp grass

spreads beneath the shadows

trembles grass stalks

sings through the watery roots

of marguerites

in the supple soprano

of the tireless nightingales.

This web of gathered morning

A morning poem inspired by Mick Talbot’s Epanalepsis poetry.


Morning creeps across a field of creeping sunlight,

Filling spider webs with crystal-spangled webbing,

Gathering night, shadows beneath the hedges gathered,

Singing low the songs of blackbirds where the cattle low.

I wake and wade the low sunlight, this web of gathered morning.

Misty morning

Another Rhyme Royal for the dverse prompt, because I like this form.


On these golden mornings of October,

When dawn light fills the valley sleepy pearl,

When stars have set and leaves fall without number,

Into the dewy meadow where mists swirl,

I hear the shattered peace, the bright jays’ skirl,

And wonder will I cease to feel the pain,

Of clenched heart, when the guns spew mortal rain.


Along the misty river

It’s open night at the dVerse pub, so anything goes. The photo is one I took this morning. The poem, a triolet is inspired by it.


Along the misty river fly

The ghosts of gulls with strident calls,

And I can barely see the sky.

Along the misty river fly

Shades of the lost, I hear them cry.

They search the banks as twilight falls

Along the misty river. Fly,

The ghosts of gulls with strident calls.