Another night

Another night

Another night
after the rain
has doused the sun

stars
like raindrops
dimple the celestial puddle.

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What light

• 

What light!
No window in the sky,
no frame where clouds wander wide,
and in the dying gold,
the orioles in the poplars’
highest summits drink the last,
syrup sweet and thick,
and give it back in flute-song
to those without such gifts,
who listen in grateful awe.

Pilots just wanna have fun

We rarely see a vapour trail here, very occasionally one on the lower western horizon. But from time to time we do get military jets as there’s a big base 100kms south of us. This morning the sun was back, and the sky to the south was covered in loopy ribbons that can only be jet trails.

They start in the east

 

make a great knot due south

 

and veer off south west in squiggles like snail trails.

Looks suspiciously like the military having fun at the tax payers’ expense…

Stormless

no storm
instead a cloud ballet
operatic brush strokes
pirouetting Turneresque
tossing flames amid the cotton tufts
rain forgotten.

Simply the sky

 

there is sky all day

though clouds come and go

sun-chasing

rain-washed

and we walk with downcast eyes

 

there is sky behind the dark lines of dusk

when the sun drops out of sight

and the light in the puddles is quenched

reflecting the ocean

of unreflecting cloud

 

there is sky all night

though the blue has gone

star-pricked or dark cloud-dappled

and we sleep

dreaming of rainbows and butterflies

 

there is sky at waking

as moonlight fades

silver into pale gold

suffusing grey with pink then blue

overarching mother

Pastel

 

 

Sky

deep dark and purple black

night songs in owl velvet

ghost riding

the midnight blue wind—

 

dawn-broken

daffodil gold light

washing moon-pale banks of morning

powder blue and pastel

as Corot’s palette.

 

When purple

For the OctPoWriMo prompt ‘purple’.

When purple

after blue

and red

fading deep

night

and shadows merge

a deer

and the tableau lives

a moment suspended

dusk dawn daynight

distillation of hues

to make flesh

 

red leaves

fall and drift.

Blue star-fire

The Oracle gave me two poems today. Though I used two different word sets, the words and images are similar. I get the message.

It brings wild colour to the morning

this bird-joy and laughter,

blue fire to the waking sky.

As some see stars in the dark

not ghosts, so our unclouded words

open the dance of the vastness of eternity

in a breath of night magic.

 

Ask and you will receive

or not,

but take the broken blue

from these old stars

and make the magic happen;

fly into the fire and sing.

 

 

Moons

I found these words jotted down at the beginning of a story file. No idea what they were doing there, but they read like a poem.

 

moon-mystery

myth

river of night swelling

with starfish unnetted

silver world-flood

 

Photo ©Paul Militaru

Sea, turquoise and fuchsia

Sea,

wine-dark,

rolls on drunken waves

from sky to sky

and calls down boiling storm clouds

to drown my tears

in rivers of rain.

*

Voices in the fog,

ghosts of you and me.

I can almost remember

what we used to say,

but not how it felt.

*

It was the last time that we spoke,

and the words bounced back and forth

never taking hold.

I wish I could take those words

and twist them into the shape

of a bird or a rose

and give them to you again.

*

Take a song and sing it soft

to calm a stormy sea,

spread your crow black wings and let

the wind blow you safe back to me.

*

Beyond the humdrum

and the dismal damp

of November light,

sinking into obscurity,

the turquoise and fuchsia

and the flame red

of summer evenings

still sing to conjure up the moon,

and we will walk there

hand in hand beneath the stars.