Mystical Dawning.

At the dawning of time,
amidst steam-whirling clouds
of intemperate nature;
of spattered rocks and dust;
savage winds and steel temperatures;
a moment of calm transposed upon chaos,
the first rising of the mystical dawn.

The beginning of a world,
the birth of nature; her offspring alive
with awakening spirits.
The mystical sunrise, Godlike, almighty.
overseeing the hesitant emergence of man.

Millions of years in the blink of an eye
yet the mysticism remains, still intact.
Neither nature or man has access to secrets
that this dawning protects to this day.
Nature is indifferent, too busy creating.
Man is learning, but may never comprehend.
He discerns much that is useful,
yet harbours the bad,
and this may be his eventual undoing.
Humanity may become part of the mystery,
a tiny irrelevant speck of the past.
Future beings will look back in amazement…
how sad, that a species forgot how to love.
And so, each dawning anew, the opportunity exists
to benefit from mistakes of the past.
But at the dusk of each dawning,
the mystery is darker and enshrouds
and perpetuates the myth.

©DF2007

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Disquietude

Disquietude

Legs swinging freely, not a care in the world,
I sit perched on a gate, observing the view.
Leaves rustle behind me, newly unfurled
and the grass at my feet is still sprinkled with dew.
Somewhere in the field, a cow softly calls
to it’s offspring, warning of dangers unseen.
The tune of the skylark as it soars and then falls,
captures the morning’s ambience, peaceful, serene.
In the distance I notice a movement so slight
that it could be the shadows of the clouds as they pass
But looking again I am blessed with the sight
of a hare zig zagging in a field of fresh grass.
The hedgerow and ditch are smothered with blooms,
some already praising the light of the sun.
The others will follow as the midday looms,
with colourful displays that are second to none.
On the horizon the faint outline of blue distant hills
mingles with the dark of a forest or wood.
With beauty such as this, my soul rapidly fills
with joy and humility, as surely it should.

Each continent, country, no matter how small,
has it’s own kind of beauty, special and pure.
An abundance of beauty, so much to enthral.
Precious legacy, its future you’d want to ensure.

So why all the greed, pollution and war?
Designed deliberately, destined to destroy
every good thing on earth; plunder, down to the core
all this planet can offer; all there is to enjoy.
We have no rights over skylarks and hares.
We have no rights over forests and grass.
Nor over the legacy left to our heirs.
There is no going back if you’ve shattered the glass.
As usual it’s left to a minority to decide.
Guaranteed apathy, indifference, oppression.
But how can man risk so much, and nature deride
for his own selfish exploits, his lust for possession?

I jump down from the gate, my sadness weighs heavy.
Everything in this world has a price or a levy.

© DF 2007

Photograph coutesy of Richard Cocks

 

The Greenfinch

The Greenfinch

Tiny delicate greenfinch,
lying inert on muddy ground.
Four inches I’d say, at a pinch;
a thin and fluffy mound.

No blood, or signs of any struggle.
You are perfect little bird.
Did diminishing space force you to juggle
and then your fall occurred?

You were unlucky, young and frail;
perhaps not even fledged.
I’m not sure if you are male or female,
with your wings all yellow edged.

How sad, that such a precious life
has passed away so fast.
Yes, hedges are with finches rife,
their green livery unsurpassed.

But nature is cruel and arbitrary
in her choice; who lives or dies.
It seems unfair, if not contrary
to be destined a premature demise.

©DF2007

Photographs courtesy of :-

Top: Greenfinches, by Memotions

Bottom: The Lost feather, by Paper Life

Observations on a Snowy Night

There is a stillness in the air.
An eerie silence envelopes all
that move or breath out there.

Underneath the lantern glare,
a ring of light reflects the snow
which covers cobbles bare.

Beyond the brightness, free of care,
a cat tiptoes with dainty paws,
and briefly stops to stare.

Within the shadows, mouse beware!
The cat can hear you, and intends
his supper to ensnare.

But cat walks on across the square;
his paw prints mark the route he takes
to try his luck elsewhere.

Meanwhile a change, we become aware
of gently swirling wisps of snow
now falling everywhere.

Look up and see the lantern’s flare.
It’s beams of light accentuate
the flakes which float mid air.

A draught, the air does rip and tear.
This makes the snowflakes whirl around
falling anywhere.

The sky is configured a pattern fair
of polka dot whirls, pirouettes of snow,
such beauty beyond compare.

One cannot help but stand and stare,
This magic spectacle is nature’s gift,
a delight and wonder rare.

The cat returns , nose testing the air.
Her solitary prowl is at an end.
For sleep she will prepare.

All is peaceful in the square.
Silence and stillness have returned;
the snowy mantel, everywhere.

©DF2007

Photograph: Snow Glow; courtesy of Jon Rawlinson

 

Winter

Filigree frost like feathered fingers
extends and expands, embellishing with ease
the luminous landscape, as it lazily lingers,
daring dilatory dalliance, dissipating by degrees.

 

The blustery breeze buffets lone bushes
on the heath, half hidden by Herculean heather.
The pheasants puffed plumage, protection as he pushes
against artic adversity, arduous altogether.

 

Trellised trees trace templates, turning and twisting
to the wailing and whistling of a wandering wind.
As the limpid light lingers, a lunar luminance is listing
As soft soufflé shrouds, subtly shadow the sinned.

 

Precipitation pirouettes in polka-dot patterns
from a granite gray, garrulous giant -like gargoyle;
who sits snappishly spitting, soliciting Saturn’s
favour, feeding the famished fields; a felons foil.

 

In a fir-tree forest, feather-like fronds, fancily frilled
with satiny snow, shimmer in the silvery starlight.
Creatures crunch crisply on the crystalline carpet, chilled
then numbed by the nacreous night.

 

Wintry waves wash, wantonly whipped.
Icicled incisors involute, insatiably invincible.
Rampaging; ragged rocks razored and ripped;
Eddying, effervescent, eagerness evincible.

 

Vespertine visitor, vigil viewed from vernal vales;
The hearth in a humble homestead gives heat
to the chilled and chapped, their chores curtails.
Flurried flames flood feeling into fingers and feet.

 

Solstice shindig; sanguine, spirited seasonal singing.
Winter world; white woven wonderland willed.
Raucous rituals, rejoicing, risible ringing
in of fledgling. Fervent felicitations, fountains filled.

 

Close by, creation cajoles with cold comfort,
deliverance dangerous, for the dainty or delicate.
Engendered. Enduring emergence, exacting extort
of nature. Nefarious? No, necessary; natural state.

 

©DF2007

Photograph courtesy of:

Emma & Michael’s Excellent Adventures’ photos

Many thanks guys.