black crow on winter's branch

Peace comes at last with sleep
Night grows long, the darkness deep
This Sunday ends in quiet peace
Before the rush of the coming week
The quiet soul continues on beneath
The obstacles that we claim
With some veil of false blame
Good night, sleep well, and let
Peace draw into sleep.

 


 

Snow falling heavily,
The rush of laughter giggly,
Senses altered inside a cloud.
Snow falls, shifting lightly,
Frozen rain, falls softly.
Sheltered warmth, a French bar interior.
The sun hides its face,
Along with the mountains.

Tignes, France – January 1994

 


 

Sun drops through a clear February sky
Shadows driven by the wind
Stretching longer eastwards.

 


 

Black crow on winter’s branch
Autumn blue sky
My heart cries with silent tears

 


 

The shadow of a thousand cares
That pass beneath the pale moonlight
A seeker passes through this life

 


 

Shoes and windows
Have all taken their sleep
The world sits a little cock-eyed

 


 

Saturday morning
People lay quiet
The over hang of Friday is sour

 


 

White on white
White falling with the light
Slowly ever onwards
To an endless night.

Mountains of clouds
With figured crowds
The noise of their sport
Interrupts this holiday

Care wears on my face
And all the world apace
My heart is of the future,
Thoughts of time and place.

A sea of figures falling,
Brightly coloured ants crowding,
All towards the bottom sliding
Then riding up to fall again, crawling.

A silent stranger in a foreign crowd.

Tignes, France