Poems...

//A Flock of Birds// Reading Between the Lines// The Gift// A Mother’s Love// Level in My Breeze// My Burning Desires// We’re Going To See Graham Today// Clocks// The Meadow// Evening Stream// Beacons// Unconditional Love// Honey and Vanilla Ballet// Beads// The Photograph// Sitting on the Banks of the Wye// Spritual Princess// Drops of Heaven// Pen Y Fan// Chill// The Wardrobe// Y Mynydd Du// Life Time// To A Pilot Who Guides Me On My Path// First Journey// Floating Feather// Early Morning Caesarian// Mrs Davies// The special effects of flakes// The Welsh Lad of the Mountain// Hush Now. Just Listen.// A Welsh Mountain Kind// Blowing Down The Cwm// Destiny// Drive Your Own Screensaver// Maximus And His Friend// The Dance Of The Queens// 10th of March 2007//

...

Earth’s torch, its light beamed to ground

as downward pointing fingers

splayed in a circle, piercing the silky grey ceiling

into distant valleys, as if searching.

The light imparts a soft, hazy, airy look,

a prehistoric scene; so quiet; not a stir

as if something is going to happen;

“I know this wonder,

I have seen  this way  before.”

The sun, it shines from a great distance, not knowing,

not seeing, no interest in the effects it has on Earth.

It’s just of ball of heat immersed in its own destiny,

seeing out its elliptical tenancy

without reward, without asking,

just doing, just being

in its own light.

One might think the sun has a heavy weight to bear,

giving without  receiving, and just glowing for the fun.

But hey! think of it this way, the sun has got it all:

It doesn’t have an atmosphere, so it never has to change its air;

it gets to shine continually, and it’s never in a spin.

It can see what’s all around, by just projecting

its  purest light beyond.

The sun doesn’t know how long it’s going to last

and of no concern, because its destiny is the light.

Even on earth's dark side, the sun, it is still shining

although we cannot see it sitting,  beyond our own horizon.

Maybe it is the same, the light within ourselves,

never to be seen, with the shutters closed

but, unmasked from the dark; to find it always there:

the light, the passage of existence; of our own destiny.