Lost in thought
I walk
Through the evening wood.
Then I see
My shadow beside me.
In inner talk
I failed to see
The wood’s beauty
And my whirling words
Drowned out the birds.
My tomorrow may not come.
Yet the sun
Shines through the trees
And there is beauty
In these shadows and birdsong.
A summer rain falls.
And birds sing.
The earth smells fresh.
But I recall
I have bills to pay.
Yet returning home
To my working day
I carry birdsong
And the rich earth
In my heart.
Nature’s art
Feeds my poetry.
Yet she
Outshines all poetry.
Caught up in our nightmares
Of what may, or may not occur,
We forget the beautiful sunset
And that the earth in the wood
Smells good when wet.
Living in fear
We fail to hear
When birds sing.
Our spring
Is so brief.
Nightmare’s teeth
Pierce our hearts.
Yet we have art
And nature’s beauty
Ere we depart
Into that sleep
Where we are unaware
Of beauty or nightmare.
Walking home in the pouring rain
I pondered on AI
And those who continue to maintain
The inevitability of progress.
The rain continued to fall.
Although I heard
No human word
Nature seemed to laugh
As I passed
Along the familiar churchyard path.
I am conscious of the breeze
In the trees
As the vehicles pass me by.
Back at my flat
I go to my open window
And hear the eternal breeze
Passing through the trees.
I awoke to rain today.
I will walk where water drips
From spring leaves and flowers
For time slips away
And all our little hours
Are brief as butterflies,
Who flit by without a sigh.
I leave the pub behind
And find
In the song of birds
The truth not heard
In the words
Of men
Who prate and hate.
So I listen to birds
And purifying rain
For there is no hate
In birds or rain.
Touching this tall old tree
I wonder what feels real to me:
This church of cold stone
Where people go to show their religiosity,
Or this rough bark
Warm from the spring sun.
It is the bark
That calls to my heart
And this gentle sun.
I long for the wet woods
Where the rainy breeze
Is full of flowers and leaves
And the damp earth
Speaks of death and rebirth.
I love the wood
When birds sing after rain.
I will surely die,
And Mother Nature will remain.
But we are forever part
Of nature’s great heart.
Her vital cycle of birth,
Death and good earth.
In early spring
A flock of pigeons takes flight.
A blackbird sings.
I could decide to go inside
As the temperature has dropped.
Yet, the blackbird has not stopped
His song, which brings delight.
So I stay as the day
Moves, imperceptibly, towards the night.
K Morris - Poet 