Paradise Returned

Early world-day January sun gently

Tears away low scraps of frosty fog ribbons

Washes its delightful warmth and

Fresh-as-Eden light against the

Eastern sides of garden silver birches,

Makes jewels of drips at the purple twig tips;

Feeling is tranquil, though there is work to be done.

A patient, forgiving god is near.

Windows

Across memory’s autumn-dug, fragrant soil;

Below wheeling, squealing gulls

A sixty-some summer’s man

Limps up a rising, pot-holed track

With a bent back and a broken barrow,

Rooted to the leaf-fall, sun-bronzed skies

By a skein of light grey bonfire smoke

And the young faerie sparks that dance within it.

Rain

rain1

Heavy rain:

Drip for the garden,

Drop for the lawn:

Drum roll for the garden,

Refreshing frogpaddle pond,

Falling future for

 Sun-parched ground.

I’m remembering a

Storm-hammered, crowded,

Noisy, light blue bus

Leaving a street market

In Yesterday’s-Gone,

No-Promise country;

A lover’s farewell:

“The skies cry,”

Biting back youngblood tears,

Biting passion-bruised lips,

“When good friends part.”

Drip for the past,

Drop for the present,

Drum-roll for the memory,

Reviving yesterday’s dancers,

Refreshing history’s dreams.

31/7/2013

Photo: www.newtopwallpaapers.com