Tales from the edge of the morning sky

Send us Fan Mail Rivers In the silence  of morning,  through the tunnels  of rain,  the clouds  of darkness,  the hidden whispers  of winds,  turning,  resting,  moaning  in the sighs  of falling leaves,  and trees,  if you stop,  and listen,  step away  from  the hurried lights,  the moving,  racing chase  of the dash  to seize the day, to look  behind  the shadows upon the slow  forgotten walk ...

Send us Fan Mail As I waited As I waited  for the words  to come,  under the great dome  of evening sky,  I listened to the silence,  looked out  to the blue  and light  falling to silver  in the fading west,  the first stars  were heavenwards,  the trees silhouetted,  etched upon  the twilight,  hieroglyphs  of the gloaming lending me a clue,  to look above, for then a swift  and silent  pair of...

Send us Fan Mail Magic and Moonlight Magic and Moonlight, mists before the rising dawn,  the skies glisten  in quicksilvers,  the shadows steepen  in sculptures,  the wind lifts the light  of morning,  caressing the memories  of summer,   laughter  and music,  echoing gently  across the whispering leaves  of September,  the saddening silence  of winter’s call,  For although the days  are shorter n...

Send us Fan Mail Sunday  Rain A thousand  upon thousand  droplets of sky,  dancing,  falling,  dripping,  in single  silences,  echoing  from leaves  that tremble  and shake,  filling the air  with their floods  and voices,  overhead, a hurry  of birds  flicker  and tumble,  dipping  and turning  against  the blustery call  the invisible wind,  and higher  still higher,  the grey flotillas  of clo...

Send us Fan Mail Caves A southern wind blows,  beneath the caves, clouds and stars  of an awakening September sky,  for there’s rain  in the air,  the dry leaves,  whisper, their branches,  old, stiff,  worn, rattle  and rub,  in creaks  and groans,  the woodlands,  toss and turn,  restless, as the dawn lifts  the first tatters  and rags  of blue, above the distant edges,  and far away,  beyond th...

Send us Fan Mail Wishing for (Dawn) Wishing  for morning,  lights on the hill,  sleep,  calling me  homeward,  waiting until,  for how soft  is the rain,  falling  through this dusk,  the afterglow   the last  of today,  across  the gardens,  hushed, with  blackbirds  singing  in solitudes, and shadows, since you went  away,  for its so quiet,  just the church,  the bells,  chiming blindly  the fi...

Send us Fan Mail Just is. No! I’m not joking, It is true! You can’t  wear it,  carry it,  lose it,  nor tell it,  put it back,  or forward,  plan it,  you certainly can’t change it,   share it,  waste it,  forget it  or even  predict it,  or speed it  up,  nor slow it  down,  or save it,  no more,  or less  than  you can hold  the wind,  but within it  we live,  play,  work,  and pass  away,  rela...

Send us Fan Mail Evening Rain The sky is deepening,  dull,  grey  to evening black,  sinking into a world  of shadows,  not a star blinks,  and the moon remains hidden,  behind the clouds  chasing the tides of sky,  to the winds of the west  and back,  And below the earth is still,  streets deserted,  shop windows closed, people hurry, into their inverted lives,  Summer dreams abandoned,  their ca...

Send us Fan Mail Just one moment  From nothing,  to something, the wind blew  in a gust  of blue,  warmth  and late evening  light,  and so began  the dance the dried,  brittle dance  of leaves  and July,  as she fell,  and danced  again and again, in the slow silence  of motion, in the remembrance of spring, the path  turned and led me  deeper  into the land of high hedges, apple trees, laden  in...

Send us Fan Mail I wrote in the summer garden I wrote  ‘in the summer garden,  the light was golden,  the air,  clear and pure,  the dawn  lifted the skies  towards the heavens,  time turned  upon the tides  as I listened  to the waves  break upon the distant shore,’ And then I stopped and wondered,  did it matter at all? And then continued, with these words and watched  the summer fall, ‘In the e...

Send us Fan Mail The first of Autumn’s Days Dawn,  the crouching eyes  of wings  and black,   over the last  of summer darkness,  the stars swallowed  in the emptying, the  blackness  of a fading blue,  and to the west  and east,  in front  of the ragged ships  of a worn  and forgotten sky,  lightening flickers  and fades,  flickers and fades,  crashing in sheets  of power and steel,  the metallic...

Send us Fan Mail Standing Stones Empty of sky,  the morning fields  are full with mud  and puddles  in the early dawn  and fallen grey,  clouds drift  along the horizons  edge,  not a bird stirs,  silence reigns  upon the kingdom,  the dulled eyes  of awakening,  the night fades  from dreams  of tomorrow,  to the first light  of today,  for summers’s gone  now, hidden  beyond the first flutter  of...

Send us Fan Mail Hornet She first sat  as a queen, silhouetted still against  the opening dawn,  upon the window ledge  the earth eclipsed,  the moon  standing,  summer abandoned upon the rising, morning,  the light and edge  behind her. For it’s colder now, September,  motionless  waiting,  steepening behind her frozen form, as if deciding, the way of the world, the hornet turned  her back  upon...

Send us Fan Mail The Queen (is dead) The Queen is dead, the story written the final chapter,  closed, upon her reign, for now  as the world sleeps, and the stars awaken, a million candles  light upon the world, a reminder  that all lives pass those great  and memorable, those small and forgotten,  all, calls of life voices of hope, cries, and despair,  as the earth turns, alone and solitary and tu...

Send us Fan Mail Without (the rain) Into the morning the darkness,  the winking puddles,  the solitary street lamps,  the perpetual pinpricks  of falling rain,  the shadows  yet to be lifted,  huddle between houses,  beyond the line  of avenue trees,  summer sleeping  in the dripping retreat  of gardens,  autumn hints,  in the gentle fall  of hours,  the hushed  and softening silence,  of falling...

Send us Fan Mail Mountains Mountains  of morning  chasing clouds,  great chasms,  of a deepening  September’ sky,  the sun blinks  behind the dawn,  watching,  waiting,  the season’s changing  beneath her beacon eye,  and below, far, far below, in the town,  the hurry  of streets,  stretching,  awakening,  the blinking lights,  the first rush  of impatient traffic,  an old man  sits, sleeps,  drea...

Send us Fan Mail City In  the stifling  August heat,  above the city, the history, the canyons  of forgotten places, and beyond the empty  names,  the emblematic idiom  of pointing fingers,  the high rise  of buildings, the tipping  and tearing,  of a restless wind cut,  sharp,  into invisible pieces, a spirit arises,  from beneath the metallic fingers, of high construction cranes.  For there is ...

Send us Fan Mail Season’s Dawn  Dawn beckons  behind the curtain,  pulling the sky to one side,  for rain is forecast, the barometer’s falling and morning whispers to the rising  winter tide. For autumn’s coming, September creases  with scattered rags,  of storm  and cloud, the dawning confidence  of a late summer sky  wrapped in mists, river ghosts,  and harvest shrouds For whilst the swallows  h...

Send us Fan Mail Equinox  Tremulous is the sky  this morning,  light winds  from a whispering   west,  the weather  changing,  the clouds,  in waves,  tides  of  September,  equinox  pending, summer  reclining  ‘rest,’ she whispers again, to her daughter of seasons, ‘rest, rest.’ Feel free to contact me. Be nice to know who my audience is and perhaps you can suggest some further topics or themes f...

Send us Fan Mail A Fallen Wind The clock tower points  at the early dawn,  the face  of hours  glowing in bronze  upon the opening day,  and below,  the town awakens,  shutters,  doors,  windows,  opening eyes,  stretching the shadows after the warm night  of restless sleep,  and above  the glowing rooftops,  the silhouettes  of chimneys,  aerials,  the waves  of drooping  telephone wires,  a myri...

Send us Fan Mail The Rim Cycling through  the last dawn  of August,  the hidden shadows,  the empty fields  and ripples  of silence,  beneath the wings  of migrating skies,  the whispers  of summer  in the last stands  of high standing corn,  the smudges  of light,  across the bands  of grey,  above the forest edges,  it’s quiet,  so quiet  and still,  I imagine  so I am alone,  in a world  of the...

Send us Fan Mail The Memory Days There are shrouds  of mists,  dapples  and greys,  the drizzle  of clouds,  droplets  of morning rain,  for with a shrug  of wind  through the  apple trees, brings September  among the branches,  the last  of August,  the first  of Autumn,  the gentle decline,  the memory  of days. Feel free to contact me. Be nice to know who my audience is and perhaps you can sugg...

Send us Fan Mail September Golds  and Morning Grey The first hints  of September,  through wisps  of light  in the still  fall of early morning  air, in the dapples  of age,  and grey amidst morning  golds as summer,  in bouquets  of sky  remembered in dawn  still smiling fragrant beautiful  standing there.  Feel free to contact me. Be nice to know who my audience is and perhaps you can suggest so...

Send us Fan Mail Apple Crow Upon the apple tree a single Crow,  barks, drily,  across the crowds  of standing, rustling corn,  as wounded  the sun,  lifts the red  of morning,  empty,  alone  and forlorn. For into the dark  the silent places,  where shadows call August,  left alone,  lies weeping,  lost  in dreams  of past  the timely sage, the coming fall As summer’s  leaving,  the days  slipping...

Send us Fan Mail Waiting (for rain) The silence grows,  thicker,  steepens back  and back again,  to a ragged subdued,  event laden sky,  on the fields,  the winds,  rest,  subdued,  dry and waiting,  the earth pauses,  as if still,  waiting, flies buzz impatiently,  hornets pierce the westerly edge  of the mown emptiness  of corn and grey,  distances eclipsed  by the flattened growl  of distant t...