He is dancing to the river bed beats
beneath a canopy of Douglas fir and Cedar
Step into his rhythms as you skip stones
over low rippling waves near sundown
Deep in an echo valley of moss and lichen
forest creatures pause to sway
River man brings joy to their hearts
in a sweet sorrowful serenading kindly way
Meet me there early
Drakes and hens in calm waters
Morning lights the bog
Breathing
I balance here
Between
In the deepest places
we are hesitant to travel
Fearful of what it is we may find
Wary wingless travellers
tread soft upon your path
One thing always leads to another
There’s an opening in the sky
bright like idea clouds over head
Watch out for tall trees
Watch out for wind in rain drenched leaves
Watch out for burdens
taking up too much of your waking time
Pull me close
Pull me over to the side of this road
when you’re speeding
I will pass you through
My green will slow your heart down
Writer philosophers birth idea volumes
defeat defiance despair existential disparity
Artists brushes soak in toxins
life cycle depiction or candid canvas prediction
Pleased to meet you, reality
Now it’s back to horses and dusty horse riders
Street battles wasting time
Stele entries forgotten or faded
No honoured heros names to add
Inspiration waits for the revival
Sipping tea in the wings
into amber light
butterfly while I stumble
ready from deep woods
found your declaration
sprayed passion on stone
wondered as i passed
hands in pockets
if you scrawled that one
below
before or after
If you listen
you can hear it soft in the distance
a harp or a flutter of wings
song of wind against fragile leaves
whisper of velvet rain in trees
light as breath
clear as waterdrops
of icicles in spring.
From this rock
worshippers say
One Hundred Years past
Tom’s vision transcended
earthly bondage
Or was it just
he could paint in silence here
conjure colour from wings of passing loons
interrupted only by subtle
changes in the wind?
Pencil Notes 