Strings cannot withstand
the consummate elegance
of the wielded bow,
low tears wrenched from moistened eyes,
released by the cello’s mood.
Strings cannot withstand
the consummate elegance
of the wielded bow,
low tears wrenched from moistened eyes,
released by the cello’s mood.

From stagnant waters
tendrils of vapour carry
the howl of the loon
He came down from the mountains as autumn aged, before the paths could pile with snow and the bridges bowed with ice. After eighty-nine days he had still not found a trace of his goal. Every morning he had trekked the, by now familiar, circuit looking for any signs that his quarry had passed by, always with the same negative result. It had been the same for the past three years. his hunting skills had been slowly diminishing. He knew that he would not spend another season on these mountains. He had made friends with bears, the wild mountain goats, the eagles that swooped high over the mountain. He called them friends without receiving anything in return but the pleasure of fleeting sightings as armed only with camera and binoculars he had watched the parent beasts and their offspring, in their battles for life in this harsh territory. There were good and bad times but they had all given him the pleasure he craved. He had but one regret. With two more cameras to check, once again he was beginning to feel disheartened. He saw the red light blinking as he approached, at least it had caught something. Could this be the one he was looking for. He crouched down on the damp soil and removing his knapsack reached in to pull out his laptop. Releasing his fingers from the thick mittens he plugged a lead into the top of the box and crossing his fingers, once more waited for the picture to appear. The screen looked snowy at first. Interference providing it’s own blizzard conditions but as it started to clear he felt the usual tense stirrings of excitement. In the top corner were two dots of light, pinpointed in the infra-red beam. Could this be the one? Eyes, and they were coming closer. It was unmistakable, a round off-white, cat-like face, black whiskers trembling. His first snow-leopard. Proof that they were still in the area. He started to cry. Nothing else would or could ever compare to this moment.
Filed under faith, Flash fiction, nature inspired, On the lines of romance, Self compositions
With a hungry child,
the rent man knocking, calls for
desperate measures,
those who buy her services
seldom gain or give delight
The flowers of youth
losing their grip on splendour
butterflies descend
Filed under Factual, Haiku, nature inspired, On the lines of romance
Unfilled
a void, in life,
in mind, then unprovoked
memories once imagined lost,
reborn
Filed under Cinquain, Factual, On the lines of romance, Self compositions

Rising from the ground
the roaring, giant lantern
lifts into the air.

To escape the icy, dark, raging seas
a lone ship with all her sails lost, flees,
the crew of Her Majesty’s frigate, “Raven,”
in search of a headland, to act as haven.
One thousand fireflies
cast shadows in the meadow,
all to no avail,
darkness calls for silence though
crickets chirrup on the breeze.
While winds play cello
to the rhythm of the rain
clouds with lightning dance
Filed under Haiku, nature inspired, On the lines of romance, Self compositions, Uncategorized
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