Hummingbird

A Ruby Throated Hummingbird
settles on the Persian rug,
out for an airing, draped over a stone wall.
Sunflowers border the lawn, a framework
of Van Goghian incandescent yellow.

Reclining on a patchwork blanket
soporifically half reading
Rilke’sSonnets to Orpheus.
Inhaling the dancing perfumes floating
up from an ocean of vibrantly fecund roses.

In this Eden I drink some chilled Muscatel
from a tall thin coral coloured glass.

Suddenly a darting flash of claret.
My diminutive companion lands on a branch
of a graceful weeping willow, overhanging
an ornate pond covered in large water lilies.

Images from Millais’s painting of the drowned
Ophelia leaps into my consciousness.
And the bearded Monet painting his huge canvases
of water lilies in his garden at Giverny.

Becoming aware of some beautiful music
dancing through this garden of paradise.
Trying to place the polished sounds,
possibly a Chopin piano concerto?

Closing my book…
stretching out upon the warm velvet grass.

Soon transcending the pantheistic nirvana
of my immediate environs.
Drifting into the freeing hands of Morpheus.
Mind travelling into the cosmically
unpredictable world of fairy tales.

What was that I glimpsed from the corner
of my reverie? Looked awfully like
aWhite Rabbit holding a pocket watch.


Magic Hour

Dedicated to the memory of the artist Richard Dadd [1817-1886]

Tenderly placing
some gossamer light cake
and strawberry marshmallows.
On a springy bed
of snoozing sunflowers.

Victuals for the fairies,
who will arrive
at the magic hour.
Gently landing
on lilting lily pads
by the tinkling stream.

They will sip,
honeysuckle dew
and rosewater
from tiny silver thimbles.

Wearing their delicate clothes.
Gently woven from fine
golden threads of barley and wheat,
intricately laced with the fresh
petals of bluebells.

They will dance with the pixies,
cherubs, elves, sprites,
nymphs and leprechauns.
Sharing some minuscule
moonbeam-kissed berries.
Sprinkling their magical fairy-dust
wherever they settle.


Tides

Dream drifting along the coastline
of your haunted imagination,
where galaxies run wild.
I try to hallucinate you
all the way back to shore.

As rain storms gather
you appear an eternity away,
swimming ever further out.
Now just touching the very edge
of my nerve-stretched vision.

Is this where eternity is answered?
Where borders lose their comfort?
Strange equations of time appear to
be fracturing upon the breaking surf.

Sea-blasted bursts of enlightenment
suddenly explode from some deep and
mysterious place. Flooding my confused
mind with wave upon wave of serenity.

Instantly reinvigorating body, soul and spirit,
even as you continue your outward journey,
no longer visible upon the brooding horizon.

Maybe you are feeling insanely brave today?
Or you have read the tides to perfection.


Sands of Secrecy

With summer’s song sung
and the cathedral cloisters closed:
strolling seaward
seduced by the sea nymphs’siren call
tracing your name
onto the sea-swept
sands of secrecy.


Snow Walk

After crossing the wild Atlantic, finally pitching-up on the west-coast of Ireland
Exhausted, she takes a draught of forgetfulness…

Finding herself
walking
somnambulant

across a snow-covered field

bordered
by black roses…
in the middle of the field
there was a red grand piano
she sat down
and started to play a Bach piano sonata
while a goshawk hovered overhead.