When the light must clasp the hand of the night

Walking through wooded lanes,
threaded with sunshine and shadows –
So beautiful yet suggestive of sadness.
Much like the human mind;
With memories threaded on a string like pearls.
They are the luminous forerunners of autumn,
When light must clasp the hand
Of the night.

Vagabonds and Dreamers

Layered between orchards and beaches
There is a winding mind running through
currents and gusts,
Past little hollows of thoughts
And old stone memories chiseled
by looping blue rivers.
It is faintly tinged by human hands;
A gossamer white of year’s gone by.
It is a mind haunted by loveliness and twilights,
Making daisied fields and seas gone wild,
Dispensing grace and hospitality
To generations of vagabonds and dreamers.

The Beauty of this land

The beauty of this land
Lies in its natural contrasts;
The pale gray of the mountains
Against a vivid blue sea,
The blue-blackness of deep set nights
Against the crystal clear silvery moon.
It stirs something within…a distant memory
Of our own duality;
Pure untarnished soul against
Impermanent vulnerable humanity…