Moonwards

The sun blazed high.

I looked to his power

for direction

and was blinded,

scorched until he danced,

a colourful myriad of inspirations,

even further from my reach,

into the sea.


I sat in the cool, soothing air,

listening to owls

telling their stories.


Night jasmine curled around gates

like children’s crowns woven

with white, fragile stars.


A hare leapt across a starlit field,

its tail bobbing like a tiny moon.


The gentle, round face of night’s queen,

simple, white and immense,

rose in the East.


Her light touched me

and did not burn.


I found my direction

suddenly,

under a bliss of stars,

dance moonwards.

Midnight Garden

I’m in the wood now,

by the moon mirror,

the still, black pond.

No leaves sway

on sentinel trees

this warm, windless night.

Jasmine scents,

a sleeping swan

the same colour as the moon,

her head tucked

under feathers.

I am the only one moving.

I shift upon a flat rock,

my fingers brush a fern.

I come here to be

nobody,

a swan, the moon, a feather.

I would stay forever.

Soon I will hear the cries

of the other world,

the changing world,

and I will go back to

soothe, inspire, mother.

Until then, I rest

out of time.

Flower Moon

Blackbird, silent.
Owl, orange
moon-eyes
watching.

The trees, still
as stars.

Hidden squirrels
curl in branches,
waiting in the
cool touch
of night.

I, human,
feel animal

as I cross-leg
on rough dirt
and leaves,
the ground
colder than
where night
meets my cheek.

My bones echo
the bones buried
in Earth’s
dark embrace.

I left many
things,
you
the biggest,
to be here
tonight.

A screech warns
the shadow
of myself,

a blackbird song,
a glow to the East,
a lifting curve
of rose.

We all hold our breaths,
blackbird, owl,
squirrel and I.

She lifts higher,
until she is a
loving circle
of rose.

My hands
illuminated,
my shadows
fled,

I for a moment
am something other
than human.

This is inspired by the supermoon, 7 May. The May moon is sometimes called the Flower Moon.

Solstice

In the night
steeped with dark
we hold heavy
secrets.

In the longest night
we can whisper them
one by one

no one will hear

but the souls
and spirits
that have no light
that dwell in shadow.

They will take our
heavy offerings
one by one
so we can be still
and sleep
and feel our losses

so when the sun
rises
it can fill us,
empty of shadow
with warmth
and light.

Here on the Solstice
we give up
what we know is lost
to find
the New Year.

Here in the UK it’s sunset, this winter Solstice. I hope this night heals and holds all who read this. And that tomorrow brings great candles of hope.

Night’s Cloak

Night’s cloak veils the land
I stop walking and await
Radiant moonlight

Last week the full moon was out over the beach and the wild ocean in Wales.  I went to a Haiku workshop, and this came out- if such things interest you, it is in the traditional 5-7-5 format (5 syllables in the first line, 7 in the second and 5 in the third).

I just published a new novella- Painting Pretoria, encapsulating the beautiful and mysterious colors and moods of the ocean.

White Moon and Rose

The white moon
weeps the
color of night

and each of your
tears
is a star
upon the floor.

Red-eyed birds
sing
to your
red, raw heart

and take wing
in the rose-colored
morning.

Though
the color of night
still dreams on
your skin

dawn
dresses you
in softer
pink skirts.

Don’t be afraid
to carry them
both

the pines will
know

one who loves
still walks
in this world.

Blue Boy

Maybe it’s because
he reminds me
of something
I lost.

Maybe there was
a new boy
blue boy
I held to
my heart
and he held
me

maybe
that happened
in the midnight
moonlight
one night

and it was
the most I’ve
ever seen

of the colour
of night.

Now the dark
has deepened
and hid the moon

and I’m left
with the absence
of blue.

A simple poem- I hope readers enjoy it – a midnight sort of poem.