A beautiful butterfly
Flutters by
And a gentle breeze
Russles the leaves
Of fine old trees.
Where shadows dance
Couples may see,
By some lucky chance,
The otter wild and free
That dreams
In woodland streams.
Standing on the street
With dusty feet,
They gazed
Amazed
At the museum of yesteryear,
While far and near
Stretched the asphalt drear.
The poet does capture
Beauty’s rapture
In verse.
How perverse
That in his desire to ignite
Delight
In another’s heart
With his art,
So much of his precious time
Is lost in rhyme.
Walking through the churchyard
I heard
you talking.
Your word
Was gentle then,
A breeze
Whispering amongst the leaves,
But when
You In anger blow
The wise know
That your breath
Augurs death,
For we reap what we sow.
An autumn girl.
Falling leaves whirl.
Trees naked stand
Their branches reaching for the great sky
And I.
Sitting in this autum garden I
Hear aircraft from the nearby
Airport. The breeze
Rustles in the trees,
Then modernity’s din
Muscles in yet again,
As another plane
Flies by
Competing with the wind’s sigh.
A conker I found
On the ground.
Still in it’s prickly clothes,
Yet to be disclosed.
“I aught
To leave you here” I thought.
“You may, for all I know
Grow into a great tree”.
But another voice in me
Said “some other will take you away, if I leave you here on the grass
For many people here pass”.
So I took you home
As my own.
On my sill
You sit, waiting to spill
Your seed.
Was it need
Or greed
That made the virile
Sterile.
Would that I could
Get to the root
Of this drying fruit.
Give me a diversity of seasons.
Save me from one, long heatwave.
Give me reasons
To rejoice
Ingenuine choice.
Let me hear the blackbird’s voice,
Not the crass
Mass
Who scream
For suncream
And complain
That the rain
Is wet.
To live and die
As a fly,
Knowing only this wood, this sky.
Yet here am I
The sound of a blackbird
By me heard
As I savour Autumn’s scent,
After a day spent
In old London Town.
A myriad of leaves have fallen down
Today
(and trees too they say),
But it is all to soon
For ‘Tis only June …
—
(Note: This poem was prompted by my walk home from work, on 6 June. The evening felt Autumnal, despite it being early June).
In the wood’s dark
Heart the breeze
Whispers in the trees
Words that I can not comprehend.
May god send
Me peace
And this breeze
Never cease.
K Morris - Poet 