THE CANDLE


The essence is now no more though I did not see it die,
gone it's calming sheen, I feel loss but do not know why,
but miss soft vibrate scene .
For I could watch forever such a glowing sensuous sway,
with it's coloured aura, a red through to blue teasing play,
atop waxy leafless flora.
A final touch of wispy charcoal smog from blackened wick,
brief vapid scent, semi liquid fingers drip down then stick,
for now a candle spent.

Fields of wheat



I am standing in a field of wheat nearly harvest ready,
my eyes are tightly shut, arms outstretched to steady
as I slowly place my foot.
My ungainly faltering gait reminds me I should stop.
I am completely blind, motionless amidst the crop
when joy untold I find.
Other senses are invoked as sight has now been shed,
insects hum and sing, a symphony by Grasshopper led,
accents by corvid wing.
I feel warm solar lips brush tenderly against my hair,
and hear the rush, of wheat flock sway by fussing air
toying without crush.
Spice tinged scent, barely there from a hidden source,
pollen and cereal dust, birdsong a melody of Morse,
caught on sudden Gust.
I relish this sensual treat, that caught me by surprise,
the moment I closed my eyes.

A falling leaf


Through Autumn, long Winter and many a violent Spring storm,
always it's leaves it kept, just now I chanced upon a falling form
as a single leaf it softly wept.
Possessed of delicate poise, a parchment piece of russet trees,
floated without any sound, slowly turning, nudged by a breeze
down towards the ground.
It was the first of it's kind to let slip from high up where it held,
a moment of discarded worth, yet one that of the future spelled,
a sign of the tree's rebirth.