NIGHT




As the Day now tires, with sleight of hand darkness steals the light,
and by royal decree, the fading landscape kneels before the Night,
his nocturne for all to see.

The World is stilled,appearing languid and not concerned with time,
all is hushed in tone, reverence rendering movement into mime,
the air as cold as stone.

Night's rule is short, amid emerging lustre the Day reclaims control,
waking again the land, returning light and warmth that darkness stole
with his sleight of hand.



Inspired by the beauty & fashion industry's negative influence

BEAUTY



Perhaps my eyes are shut, for I see not the picture you paint,
when in the mirror you stare, it's image your mind lets taint,
your self doubt ensnare.

Is it an error of vision, which masks the truth from your sight,
forbids you embrace, that where you tread shines purist light,
and brings good to this place.

They are nothing, the pastel shades of powder which adorn your skin,
the fabrics you drape, compared to to that which lies hidden within,
and has no form or shape.

When our eyes meet, I am lost, my mind and heart no longer free,
it is a kiss from afar, our lips do not touch yet lovers we will be,
Beauty is what you are.

THE FIRE

It entrances all whose eyes witness it's sinuous show of blue and gold,
an alluring hold,
which accompanied ancients in their wanton dances.

And drew to it's warmth the village folk with their fearful eyes glistening,
intent on listening,
to the flames crack and roar as the cold north wind blew.

There's wonder about and stories are told of great deeds done by the tribe,
as they imbibe,
wise words giving comfort for what's been torn asunder.

Old songs are sung with familiar sounds and words leaving mist in the air,
as they stare,
letting the fire cleanse their hearts and right all their wrongs.

As a new dawn approaches only embers remain resolute in the dying fire,
folk finally tire,
knowing that through the conjured flames the Tribe has been reborn.



A father talks to his first child a few days after the birth

A FATHER'S CHILD



As I waited, in quiet moments my mind would your image draw,
how you'd look I guessed ,yet no picture painted ever foresaw,
a Father so truly blessed.

I remember, how with timorous reach my hands brought you near,
a feather touch embrace, rolling waves of utter joy and pure fear,
when first I saw your face.

Confused was I, when a single liquid pearl down my cheek traced,
on your brow to lie, whilst a sudden stifled sob the ether graced,
hearing your first cry.

In my arms, lulled into contented slumber by my bodies heat,
there slips a gentle sigh, it's here my real self I finally meet
for now a father am I.