Good News Garden

There is only
good news now.

The leaf touched by
dawn’s grace.

The wildflowers
bright again,

bees breaking
into buzz

after the sleepy
silence of night.

Now the colours are
yellow, gold, green,
pink, purple and blue,

a meadow of colours
dreamt and undreamt.

Look close at the
curve of bee
on a papery petal.

Let the perfume
of wild rose
paint you in pink.

Step aside
from night’s
tangle-eyed
shadows
of black
and grey.

Enter the meadow
of clear colour
in sunlight.

There is only
good news here.

The Moon Stands Bold

The moon
drops her
petticoats
and rises
bold.

We are
unclothed 
flowers
in her flame.

Too long
did she wear
the clouds of
hidden shame.

The moon
stands bold in
the light of the 
unencumbered
sun,

our hearts
untamed.

Morning Song

The land is kissed
by golden morning.

Thrush-in-nest,
eye-awake,
puffs her breast,
sings and wings
across the meadow.

My heart knows
a sweet song
touched by dew.

I, too,
eye-awake
in first gold,

rejoicing in the
new breath 
of a honeyed day.

 

Morning Wings

Morning wings

brush mine,

I wake to a

pale moon

in blue.

 

She sinks 

westward

while we soar,

arise.

 

Sunlight rests

in Apple branches,

full of white

perfume.

 

Could I rest 

there too?

I climb and touch

the sky.

 

The eastward 

moon rises,

I close my eyes.

 

Paling,

I sink

 

I no longer

touch the ground.

 

I leave the Earth

for the Sky.