Drops of colour like drops of blood,
reminder of passion and death,
a heady concoction full of desperate joy.
Tag: landscape poetry
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Poppy fields
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Micro-world
Micro-world – so different,
where minute forces create different structures,
where water is spherical and flower petals rough and ribbed…
so strange and yet so oddly familiar, almost by touch. -
Lights
If you look directly at the sun, for a while things around become dull and washed out;
but gradually the shadows return and subtle shades reassert themselves
and you see the transparent lights of daffodils,
the shimmering lights of the evening mist,
the flickering lights on the hair of children, playing,
the quiet lights on the faces of a couple, facing each other silently on a hill…
So many lights, so rich, so subtle –
all reflecting the sunlight and making it so much more. -
Light and Dark
The lurid hues of sunset
make lamplight almost invisible –
but how they clarify the darkness! -
Ancient Giants
I find bare winter trees endlessly fascinating.
The branches lead my gaze with hypnotic power, and it follows on and on…
I think it is a visual equivalent of learning and gives the same joy of
discovery:
ordered enough for the mind to create patterns,
with enough chaotic variation to keep it interesting,
to forever suggest the possibility of better, more intricate organization… -
Cherry Blossoms
Cherry blossoms – a staple of poetry,
they appear so briefly in such profusion…
What is the fascination?
Is it our slightly guilty,
maintenance-free
enjoyment
of the beauty of evanescence?
