There was only one for me

She never was replaced

Her going was a very hell

Worst times I ever faced

We've all seen suns go down

Images burned in our minds

My eyes blurring as she set

A woman a man rarely finds

No cloud marred her eye

Her nature too open-wide

Proud I was to know her

Gaily make her my bride

I remember her blue skies

Sunlight lanc...

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in acute distress is where I was

firing flares or else lighting fires

engraving SOS on the sandy beach

for want of any telegraph wires

I watched for sails on the horizon

every day I searched the skies

I kept a careful log of my every day,

alone, its amazing how time flies

I quickly got sick of coconuts

fish all began to taste the same

goats and chickens are ...

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It seems only yesterday we were fine

How I yearned for the feel of your mouth

Your every touch would set me on fire

Whether north west east or south

The sight of smoke on the horizon

Haunts me now when I look back

For it was over yonder hill we flourished

Before my thoughts turned so black

That  dark column taunts my tortured eyes

Acrid embers still fly off in ...

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Do you ever feel like you're the protagonist of a book?

Where the ending is constantly being rewritten and you're just waiting for the day that it's finally gone through all the edits and gets published?

But what happens if it's a novel that has 7 parts?

You might never even get to read the last written words or get to the final chapter of what you thought was your

"perfect ending."

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Between the wooden breakwaters

I sit on the flinty stones

to watch the grey sea

waves rattling the beach

That foaming water

that was once the horizon

where I sailed

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My Sunset Haiku [1] as a Sunset Englyn [2]

A green flash from the setting sun - and night

Now sea and sky are one

Dusk from the gold orb is spun

Thus this mystic day is done

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1.

Where sea and sky meet

                a green flash from the set sun

Lighting distant shores

2.

The Welsh englyn unodl union is a straight one-rhymed englyn consi...

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Sometimes, inspiration and imagination have strange effects.

De Jeune

Swallows dive, swoon

like wind-swayed ink drops

down, and beyond the light:

swallowed by the sky,

flown blue, over

road-birds – honed

by simple flight.

Like arrows in Canada

in thunderhead afternoons:

clouds rolling, rutting hinds

in migration, pounding sand-trails,

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The searing summer sun        

sets on the distant horizon,

setting ablaze

in a shimmering heat haze

the careless cumulous clouds,

aglow with crimson incandescence.

Distant twinkling stars

awake in the turquoise twilight sky;

mysterious worlds,    

afar and on high.

The end of another glorious day

with promise of more to come.

Days as fresh and gloriou...

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