Moon Sparrow

Hurrying along life’s thoroughfare, we pass him by but unaware For I could see his merry eyes, bright and shining,

they caught my stare

A tiny sparrow, oh so small

Now all alone when the night did fall

Unlike the birds of bright voice, plume and flight

Spadger the moon sparrow sings late into the night

Where clouds of starlings passed his way

Now every sound is hushed away

A gentle dove cooed and softly said

Look at the moon, look at the moon, please don’t be sad

The harvest moon, a changeless work of art

Sends him a token to ease his heart

In the midnight tree he bides his time

Come hither calls his charm

I think I could in comfort swoon

Spend an evening with him, gazing at the moon

Moonstruck for many days

But never ceasing to amaze

Gleamed like a vision of pure delight

Whilst the moon and stars shed silvery light

As he chirped, cheeped, trilled and twittered, no need to despair

No music master could ever compare

Four songs a minute he sang in haste

A joyous sound, so full of grace

His presence like a gentle song, whispers softly through the air

A melody of love and hope, a testament to beauty rare

 Your siren song, sweet lullaby serves

You gave much more than I deserve

From loud to a whisper in a twilight glow

You see through the darkness from down below

In the golden light of dawn, here stands a vision to behold

A silhouette of grace and charm, a story waiting to be told

His beauty like a morning breeze, soft and gentle, pure and bright

The world seems still in his presence when the day turns to night

He stands poised, in a timeless grace

A muse for poets, an artist’s delight

A radiant star in the morning light

The dawn was breathtaking, the sky ablaze

With glorious colours, from red to a pinkish haze

With a bright-eyed stare and glorious trills

A poetic vortex of beauty to ease one’s ills

Like a sunrise way up high

Faithful and consistent in the morning skies

Seldom is the loss of a single sparrow

Ever hidden from God’s ever watchful eyes

This poem was inspired and contributed by my son Will.

The Three Little Flies

Ping, Pong and Poo were three little flies.

But only Poo was wise.

They were siblings, full of cheer,

Always buzzing, far and near.

One bright day with eyes ashine,

They followed a boat, so gentle and fine.

Bobbing along on waters murky and dark,

To see what adventures, they could surely embark.

First was Ping, wild and free,

Always full of endless glee.

Buzzing so fast, going mad,

Didn’t see the frog on a lily pad.

Next was Pong, quick and snappy,

Flitting along, aways so happy.

Into a spider’s web, did dive,

The spider was waiting… but will he survive?

Lastly there’s Poo, small and wise,

Evading traps, that’s no surprise.

She waited and watched with patience aglow,

Then found her time and off she did go.

Poor little Poo, full of wisdom and grace,

Now all alone in this big empty space,

When her mind was free to think and ponder,

Her uplifting thoughts where they used to wander.

Oh, Ping and Pong, she did miss them so,

But remember in every tale,

Knowledge is a wind that sets the sail.

So just like Poo, be wise in your stride,

For life is a lesson, and a vibrant ride.

A stroke of luck

I’m not complaining just explaining….
How things are now with me
On the morning of the 29th
I had a stroke you see.

I’m not complaining just explaining….
My memory just a blur
Then hands of reassurance
My strength, my wife was there.

I’m not complaining just explaining….
How I felt that day
Inert in terror, lacking strength
Please let me live, I pray.

I’m not complaining just explaining….
Why my writing ended
I needed all my energy
‘Till head and body mended.

I came through to tell my story
One that I survived
And now I wake each morning
To give thanks that I’m alive.

The Damselfly

In a blue whisp of a whisper, pirouetting free,

Wings all a flutter, she settles next to me,

Carefree with delight bedecked in turquoise blue,

Dainty and graceful, sparkling in the dew.

With beauty, full of life, flitting to and fro,

Carousing in the sunlight, she puts herself on show,

Once she was an ugly bug, living in a pond,

A nymph that cast her skin, rising from beyond.

With filmy gossamer wings aflutter,

I watch her flying by,

And marvel at the turquoise jewel,

The ballerina of the sky.

Then as if answering an unspoken plea,

She weaves her magic over me,

A beauty of nature, a gift beyond compare,

But I had no thoughts to find her there.

Like a hiccup out of the blue,

The beautiful damsel comes into view,

With wings of delicate filigree,

She leaves an ineffable tracery.

With her agile body, putting on a dance,

She finds true love to begin a romance,

Then flies in tandem, full of grace,

To share a world in a different place.

Then six weeks’ on as she wanders her ways,

It’s time to close the story of her fleeting days.

Cuthbert the Crow

Cuthbert’s black and shiny from bristled beak to toe,

He knows my route of travel, wherever I may go.

When I hear his cawing, growing louder, coming near,

He always measures my distance, whenever I appear.

For in despair that he evokes his ordeal in the past,

He thinks that you’re the farmer about to take a blast.

So don’t stop to say hello and think he’s shy, he’s not,

He’s Cuthbert the wily crow, and he’s not about to be shot.

So please don’t glaze yourself and really think you know,

With his quick acute perception, he’ll take his distance so.

With his rakish eye and the hoarseness of his throat,

His prudent mind won’t understand the coercion you provoke.

When the world is too much with him and he’s feeling rather low,

Chattering, pluming his feathers as I gaze up from below.

He’s not a portent of evil, there’s no need to take a fright,

With eyes shining brightly that betokens sheer delight,  

But it would be remiss of me if I did not share with you,

A noble vision of shimmering feathers of purple, green and blue.