Spring song source: tritina


These first pale golden days announce the spring,

the swelling of the buds and then the song

of birds and water running from the source.


A sunrise crisp brings deer up to the source

to drink, where clustered violets frame the spring

that courses through the grass with silver song


down to the willow-shaded stream. The song

That stirs the shoots and roots lies at the source

Of all this golden frothing that is spring.


All this golden spring, song is the source.


Beauty blind

A tritina for the Secret Keeper’s weekly five word prompt.



Daybreak colours, hard to place

When beauty springs in every hue

Yet fails to move hearts with its dance.


Leaf fall, bird flight bright colours dance;

Before the inner eye takes place

A pageant dressed in every hue.


I’d take a palette of each hue

And paint the feathers of the dance,

But who would see in this lost place?


Dead is the place where beauty’s hue is a forgotten dance.

The clouds are weeping

It’s a long time since I wrote a tritina, and the day is damp and grey. Again.



I wake to grey, a veil of rain,

Cold winter light streams wet as tears,

And all the world is silent weeping.


Keep your songs, too loud the weeping,

Drummed tattoos, gunmetal rain,

Perhaps spring sun will dry our tears.


Buttercup, daisy, flower tears

Spring from the grass this time of weeping;

Thrusting shoots poke through cold rain.


Rain or tears, the clouds are weeping.

Star-stitched sleep

A tritina for the Secret Keeper”s writing prompt.



Silver nets catch star fish in the night,

And lines cast from the cloudy depths of time

Ravel up the dreams that mend our sleep.


When all our loves and hopes are drowned in sleep

And drift like phantom feathers in the night,

We shiver in the yawning cold of time.


Life spins so fast and leaves us little time

To waste in the oblivion of sleep,

I count instead the haul of star-stitched night.


Night time, I will sleep amid a shoal of stars.


Tales from the mountain

It’s a liberating feeling to have got a story out. I thought I’d be able to write a poem taking me somewhere completely different. Didn’t work out quite like that.

A tritina for the Secret Keeper’s weekly writing challenge



The mountain wreathed in mist is never tame,

It draws down cloud and wraps itself in rain

While children sleep and dream heroic tales.


When winter winds blow round the fire, tales

Are told to drive away the dark, its terrors tame,

Of mountain slopes, wolf-stalked, beneath the rain.


While children sleep, outside the storm and rain

Howl down the chimney, we sit telling tales

Of heroes once could wolf and mountain tame.


We sing, tame wolves, of soft rain in our heroes’ tales.

Almost as cool as rain

Daily word count achieved = poetry treat. A tritina for the Secret Keeper’s writing challenge. The words:



No gentle downpour this, of cooling rain,

But shafts of heat, sun-spears that bring us low,

From heights of haze, the shimmer falls.


Blue, the water colour of the river falls,

Silver, sharp, a tingle on the skin, the rain,

Red-gold, the sun at evening, dropping low.


As burning day gives way to night below,

The touch of evening, gentle on skin falls,

Almost as silver cool, moon pale, as rain.


Rain, with low sounds, falls.

The motion of the stars

A tritina for the Secret Keeper’s five word challenge. The words are:



The motion of the stars sends me to sleep,

On nights when owls rush through the darkling trees,

And thoughts rain down like fish caught in a net.


I feel no pain, swept in the sky’s wide net,

Eased by the glitter into thoughtless sleep,

I let the moonlight dapple windless trees.


Silence breaks with owl cry in the trees,

Some small thing trapped in nature’s red-raw net—

She rules the scampering night while others sleep.


Sleep rocks the trees in the stars’ glorious net.