Sometimes the air is so pure
And beauty’s store
Becomes too much.
At such
Moments the heart is full
And a dull
Ache
Will not me forsake.
Tears fall on the tranquil lake.
The sun awakes.
I will go
And see the rainbow
Shine
And ponder on what some call nature
And others the divine.
Outside my window the birds twitter.
No bitter
Singing from those who live, yet know it not.
Their lot
Is a happy one,
For they are here then gone
Without foreknowledge that the sky will darken.
I will harken
To another song.
The long
Summer nights have arrived.
Why do I strive
For delights
Of a different kind,
When I find
In the birds
A truth surpassing words?
As with the bee to the summer flower
Man dallies many an hour
Savouring the blossom’s power.
Petals delicate he feels
And reels
At the scent of the inviting rose.
In delirium he goes
and takes it to his nose.
His thirst to slake
And desire satiate.
The bee tires.
Desires
Cool, as summer draws to it’s close.
The red rose
Withers
And quivers
In the growing chill.
The rill
Dries up
And summer’s door is shut.
The sky slowly darkens.
He harkens
To birds.
No words.
Only the sun sinking
And him thinking
On time
And the divine.
what am I to do with you?
You came into the flat on my shoe.
Autumn is at an end.
Into the bin you must descend.
Green leaves must go
Before winter snow
Blankets the land
And trees stand,
Their branches bare
In the frost laden air.
Standing at the station
reading the news of this nation
I became conscious of birds.
The words
I was reading
the thoughts they where feeding
seemed irrelevant.
This earth we are leant.
To much time is spent
lost in thought.
Additional hours can not be bought.
Oh listen to the birds
not the words
And learn to be
Free!
—
Being blind I have software on my mobile which enables the content of the screen to be spoken aloud (http://www.nuance.com/for-individuals/mobile-applications/talks-zooms/index.htm). Several days ago, I was reading the news at the station when I became aware of the birds singing. This prompted the above poem.
My dog snuffles
and scuffles
amongst the leaves.
He is just there
With no care
For what I think
As I drink
In the fresh morning air.
Awakening to the sun’s light
I listen with delight
to wooden wind chimes.
Their music delicate and sweet
has not disturbed my sleep.
Now heres the thing
you can not catch the wind.
It goes where it will
over dale and hill.
As a child it blew
through
our home
whistling in the chimney
as I sat alone
reading many a fable
at our oak table.
The gale inspired no fear
then
and when
I hear
it blowing near
today
I pray
it will blow all this away.
The wind howls
as the environment scowls
on ersatz man
who can
only cower
At nature’s power.
His tower
shiny and new
may see him through
But the old gods wait
And ‘tis getting late.
Thor raises his hammer
Drowning out the yammer
Of man who plays on the Titanic’s dek
an albatross about his neck.
Listening to commercial radio
The warblers come and go.
Photogenic girls fill my brain
With the same
Or similar sound.
Autumn leaves strew the ground.
I reach for the off switch.
Oh what bliss!
In the garden a bird calls.
Leaves whirl and fall
And the warbling is lost, beyond recall.
K Morris - Poet 