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There’s Mist In the Valleys Between the Hills

There’s mist in the valleys
between the hills
and the sunset
sets it on fire.

There’s foam on the waves
rolling ashore
and breaking over
the pier.

There’s hazy birdsong
drifting down
towards us on the breeze.

There’s less than an hour
to a city
if you cannot handle such peace.

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Interlude

A plane unfolding a cloud is the only
sign of other life we have in sight
while under this, the sky of the earliest
of the early days of Spring’s reluctant light
we tread a path through last year’s
withered stems
and talk about all else than what we want.

And then a silence long and rarely broken
before we see it all again.

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Soft Breeze

I smell wet grass
and mosses from
your hair as you pass
by my door,
soft breeze who plays
with the sun’s rays
and dances on
forevermore

Restless, joyous
in your movements,
not constrained by worries
like my world.
On you dance, forgetful
on you dance, so joyful
with no constraints
you swirl

Curls of smoke adorns
your hair and
shoulders, old and worn
but lively young,
twinkling drops of moisture
smelling of green pastures
shines in your eyes
and to your lashes cling

Fresh breeze – my dear
I present you
with a solemn tear
of thankfulness
for your tranquil beauty
and for your sensitivity
when gently you
my cheek caress

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Silence

The air is full of solemn song
though no human voice uplifts itself,
much more than hearing it you sense
the wind through leaves and grasses dense,
probing tentatively, playing along
your face and dancing with your hair
as you become absorbed in silence’s lair
where everything is clearer than you
previously knew;
the deep blue of the sky,
sweet smells of flowers
and the twinkles in the dew,
the wind caressing you, you couldn’t notice before
when mouths were spilling stories, gossip, lore.

Now the whole world
dances, plays, unfurls
before your eyes, and with wonder and surprise
you embrace the re-discovered existence
of the peaceful silence
which enables you to see
the smallest, yet most wondrous
miracles that can be.

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Moist

landscape lost
in a humid cloud
of nebulous mist
that moist descends
upon us

dispersing white
mist, seesawing –
what a sight
to behold
before us

fog twirling around
pale smokestacks,
we are found
within this world,
swirling around

droplets condensing
on your cheek and brow
now start flowing
further down
moistening your clothes

moisture becomes vapour
as the nebula disperses,
the air clean and pure
washed, surely greets us
welcome home

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Rainy Night

Luminescent night-air,
walking in the dirzzling rain.
There’s no light yet there is light
and rain like mist
with silence in its noise.

Mid-autumn leaves cannot decide
on letting go or holding on.
No wind is there to help them choose
just steady, weightless rain.

Drenched in the water
and the sunless flooding light.
Another quiet, airy,
bright and rainy night.

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The Island 1.

I.

Out where the ocean meets the land,
the land some dots spread in the sea,
remote and distant is the land
cut off from where it used to be –

The surging tides they push and pull,
raise and lower fishing boats
some near empty, some near full
with freshly caught, still-living loads

An island kingdom of its own –
the mainland just a distant shade
on the horizon’s ocean’s foam
where heat of day will make it fade

 

II.

Clusters of flowers on the dike,
boats are nearly out of sight,
calm and peaceful summer day
nothing getting in the sun’s way,
heat disturbs the mainland shade,
children in the ebb tide wade
out to gather mussel shells
while their mother impatient yells;
lunchtime’s rapid on approach,
but I; I am not in the mood –
stretched out on the dike I see
my homeland’s old scenery –
clusters of flowers on the dike,
boats are nearly out of sight,
mainland summits nearly gone,
I drift off but life goes on…

 

III.

a church bell tolls
on Sunday morning,
almost noon
the sun is warm,
a lone cloud circles
round its sphere
then passes on
elsewhere,
the bell tolls on
then silences,
nobody’s out
the heat alone
is quite enough
to keep them in their homes
till evening –
then they stream out
filling the bars
filling the restaurant
and the beach where
I sit and stare
out over the sea
in the shade of a tree,
a lone majesty
facing the sea

 

IV.

you carve the path
lone majesty,
you direct the currents
of the sea
alone in your
singularity
out here where no one
seemingly
challenges your
superiority –
you protrude from
the sea floor, bold,
you dignified
your head uphold –
but know this;
you’re on borrowed time,
the sea creeps in,
it counts your time –
when you erode
over the years
and dissipate
piece by piece
into the hungry sea –
who will recall the island when
the sea has called it home again?

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THE ISLAND 3.

The archipelago, dazed in the sun,
glazed with the colours of the plants,
steam rising from the heated ground,
the shoals around the islands turquoise,
dark-blue, green, in places can be seen
the seafloor vividly,
the glossy surface of the sea
that ripples softly in still air
is stirred and blur the image slightly here and there –
when standing on one island all the others seem so far,
when seen from the air they all seem so close,
when seen from the seafloor they’re all the same;
small mountains rising out of the conundrum
of the plains of sand and seaweed that remain
the final undiscovered place,
unseen, unheard, undreamt of from the islands
where we stand observing, and in dives
can only plough to some degree, and still
can’t fathom in its vast entirety –
why worry? know it’s there – know it supports
the water that is held in place to hide
from our disbelieving eyes the world
down there – a secret yet, a mystery –
to all but those who sense it in themselves.

The islands, small land-masses kept apart,
by an illusions that they’ve learned to fear –
the islands, one continuous mass of land,
part covered and part visible; the sea
the glorious, providential veil, the mist
that clouds our eyes, our minds and makes us wish
for something that we are – already are –
before we’re let to realize we are –

a part of all and all a part of us.

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Dewfall

Dewfall has happened in my heart, night descends
warm and moist upon my soul, and therein you
lie asleep calm and peaceful.
I wish you would awake, I wish you could,
to quell the claustrophobic silence of my room,
but you are ever calm and peaceful, gentle, ever quiet,
ever asleep in my soul and never a threat to peace.

Dew has fallen and everything is calm and still
as if the cool night wind blew through my heart
where you lie asleep.
Asleep on this pulsing bed of blood
wherein you float, intoxicating me,
deafening me to the world
as if every dream I’d ever dreamed came to live
within my heart where you were laid to rest.