The Storm

Contrasts, that’s what makes us perceive life and so it was on the ‘Storm’ day.

The sun shone yellow like a great sunflower in the sky. A light breeze whispered through the grass; the heavy pollen bound heads swaying to and fro, as a festival crowd might do. There was a faint hum of insects, serenading the nectar proffering roses & clematis of the garden. The wisps of horses’ tails gently swishing, guarding grazing steeds from the more carnivorous insects and small puffs of white vapour meandering across the sky. It was an idyllic British lunchtime, fit for fruit & ice-cream helped down with more fruit in a glass full of Pimms.

As lunchtime progressed towards mid-afternoon, a more ominous atmosphere fell across the land. Haze built across the scene, the Pimms not purely responsible for this blurring demeanour. A dark gloom befell the garden as cumulonimbi coalesced & darkened. All breeze evaporated, replaced by a thick clammy moisture that nought could escape. Farm animals headed for shade and lay down in groups, solemnly gazing at the oppressive skies. Now it was only the buzz & whine of troublesome insects that could be heard; an angry mixture of sounds that assaulted the ears at an apparently much amplified decibel, courtesy of the stark contrasting silence, an all purveying quiet.

Pi-pit-pitter a few small drops of warm quenching water fell to earth, gently dampening the hard-baked ground and releasing that sweet petrichor. Now a few large drops gather, coercing insects to flee for hedgerow cover whilst bouncing the poor caterpillar right off his tasty leaf.

C-R-A-S-H a huge blast of thunder announces its presence to all within ten miles, the aftershocks rumbling on across the sky, shaking the rain drops from their clouds like peas popped from a pod. We scuttle for cover, drinks in hands and now the rain bounces from the yard that shall soon become a small lake. A huge flash of searing blue-white propels current from cloud to earth. Its little pre-bolts having emanated upwards, just moments before, from the crest of one poor tree. That completed plasma charge shrieking out with raucous voice as nature’s might shatters the trunk of said tree in two.

A torrent is now running past our window, washing clean the collected dust of dry spell, which shall soon be replaced with tender shoots green reaching upwards, perhaps to replace the shattered tree in years to come. An hour of violence, noise & precipitate force is now replaced by evening’s gentle colours; pastels viewed through twisting mists of evaporating waters. An afternoon of contrasts.

What shall tomorrow bring?

The Antidote

The other day I took the above photo of river, warm autumn woodland colours and stone cottage. Tamsin & I were discussing how the peaceful natural perspective gained from living in such a spot might help as an antidote to solve many of the human world’s problems. And so I was inspired to write this poem …

The Antidote

So, you were told there’d be pearls at the gates;
And ye believed in streets paved with gold.
All welcome, there’s no knowledge of hate;
Every body free, from hunger & cold.

Politicians & preachers, all principled & pious.
They’ll steer & they’ll serve;
No crooked corruption is ever observed.
All equal in eyes, without bias.

Your role, your requirement, your task?
Produce & consume, but questions don’t ask!
Your life has a value, in monetary terms.
Your tax & your servitude, this all reaffirms.

Look in the mirror, apparition pre- snooze
A tool of the ruling, perhaps just a fool.
A hollowness fulfilled with spending & booze.
A packhorse of lust, a jewel of a mule.

You vote for a party, to vain change make.
Each manifesto, of choices all fallow.
To ourselves responsibility to take.
Live lives neither fake nor shallow.

An antidote is needed;
No shopping bag therapy, no sexual heresy,
No gold card orgasm, to placate the bleeded.
Just a simple place by tree or sea.

A place in nature to sleep, not weep.
A place with hearth warm, away from storm.
A place to eat, not some backstreet.
A place from long lost tome;
To call, a home.

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Peace, peace to you all.

Autumn warmth & colours, swaying trees & babbling river – feel alive, live nature.

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Below is a video of the poem recited …
(Think I need a better mic setup – to avoid echo and the goblin who occasionally joins in lol)

Dawn to the Soul

Dawn to the Soul

A beauteous scene, dawn upon lake.
A strong comparison, perhaps to make.
Moral ideals, versus acts that you take.

Walk to the edge, tread with care.
Cast eyes down, take a stare.
Open your soul, if you dare.

In that reflection, what do you see.
Angel or Devil, what might you be.
Good deed or bad, how much the fee.

To yourself, you might lie.
On Reaper approach, tis time to die.
Meet it with honour, or inexorable sigh.

Dawn to the Soul

Listen to a reading of the poem: