The sky is kissed with sunflower,
Leaving the faintest scent yellow,
All pensive greys to mark the hour,
Here ink is spilt to swarming dreams,
The ebbing tongues of starlight tower,
On river's folds in lucid ebony.

The bellowed fog in open night,
Becomes unremarkable in the navy folds,
Buried in something thinner than shadows,
Something like the lonely sky.
For a friend, the eve is vacuous,
Though it truly is an eve within.

Make precious light on spires beside,
A flock between the yellow bricks,
O wind's ascent and longing stride,
Up to and heavenward the kick,
For much a man is his long gaze,
Which rightly sits along the flight,
To higher things and then perhaps,
His stature here below the heights.

The cold is hungry out,
So starved on empty skies,
And as the clarity of bitten glass,
We see the open realms of blue.
Now here we are my friend,
To gaze upon the spires,
To sip and talk our fill of all the world,
To find our fitting place while here.

At this the sky is truly opened up,
So fancifully thrown on yellow stones,
Held high upon the pillars of the day,
A drama and fanfare in stark sapphire.
Weighty purchases upon each corner,
All worlds to love her hearty laugh which spills
Such radiance on yellow stones arrest.

Leaving lines implicit in the barest greens,
And all my handiwork is there to fade,
Into the background but yet less,
Amidst the creeping things.
Among the silent gains upon the buttress of the sky,
Till all is naught and tall reeds lie:
My lines so fairly gone.

The moon in sheepish yellows,
Like a button pokes half through,
The swirling cloud become a garb,
The shadows drawing wisps into a hem,
I see the evening air is clothed,
That's good. The eves grow chilly as we slip,
Into the colder months.

O elevated sky - the dazzle and the brilliance,
The lilting lilac to the sunflower spills,
All cast on steely teal of brooding cloud,
What fine descent as though a crown on weary heads below,
Such light to fascinate falls on a cross,
A quiet field 'neath spire embodied praise,
The grave is still as on all fine autumnal eves tonight,
The beauty harrows in the death. O man,
O man, o finite child, go on, go on,
Remember that your time falls weakly on the earthen stage,
That you are dust and yet so saved,
That you are fleeting yet so clothed,
In robes imperished sewn from liquid gold and strength etern',
O man, take heart, the light shines even on the quiet fields.

In light absurdist stars,
On this fine frozen eve,
The winds are caught in trees,
So battered by the black-
-end grass and all the op-
-ened sky is starkly breath-
-less. . .

Swimming through the second sea,
A free form flow of palest fabric,
Artful hanging in each clustered perch,
Playing with a fullness into wisps,
Fielding longing gazes that just melt up from the marbled blue below.

Embattled in a seagull's cry,
Land of the broken and the free,
The clouds cling lightly on the edge,
Of calm horizons stretching to all spans.

Quaint streams and quiet stumps lie down in peace,
Bask in the open heights of canopies,
They've leant against the sky to hide from all,
The busyness and noisy streets.

Departing from The Lakes I leave enrapt,
These gentle monarchs in heather fitted,
So kissing every blushing sky they fall,
Upon the napes of clouds with deepest care.

The violet and the rose,
Play lazy checkers on the evening air,
Slur moves into great lunging arcs,
'Tween peaks of stalwart slate,

The belly of the rolling hills,
Lies flat to frame the setting sun behind,
What glory in a scene,
What majesty at play.

The corner of a gorgeous sky,
Makes for a loud presence in view,
Calling for a cease and merry gaze,
Dancing in such vibrant blue,
The forever call and ceaseless glory,
Drips off the corner to man's seat below,
Calls him to contemplate that mighty fellow.

Bloodied moon in amber flame,
That chokes upon the earthen crust,
That billows out grim radiance,
In orange-yellow hues bemused,
It is a weeping eye, it's crescent
Fallen lost below the spires.

The misty way, unblue and blue,
The world that strangely as pierced through,
It's weary veil bleeds cerulean.
Poseidon's trembling breast as he,
In 'ternal rage is scorched from the,
Maternal ocean, falls a blue within unblue.

The shards of fallen sky avail themselves,
Raving beasts to dine upon the tumult,
With roars and bursts of light are torn in rage,
Fall upon the napes of trembling trees,
Clatter to the unmoved earth -
Impotent, they are subsumed.

Road trip through roaring wind and rain,
The grumpy lines upon the heights,
Tire out and fold like paper dreams,
Into a psychedelic smile,
Held back to yellow though cascades,
Of colour tug the edge of this,
Strange shift from every deepened grey.

Distant moon laid starkly on the blue,
Turning back its ever bearing forth,
Impotent strides fall deaf to pull it through,
The canvas of the sky with hollow mirth,
Turning back the same, running to the same,
It eludes thought to trounce upon the day.

Bearing storms that swirl ahead,
Retreating to absurder heights within,
Heavenly galleries amidst the clouds,
Their pillars quaking at the roaring tide,
That mocks its weight to dance,
Between the clouds and hurry strength,
Pursuing stalling air to motivate,
A passionate descent.

Upon a whim to stand on clouds,
Adrift so meekly in their tread,
The world below to cease its sound,
Turn upwards to the layered beds,
Behold low geometry upon it crowned,
Some wispy stairs to fuller threads,
Perhaps I'd think it without bound,
Yet skyward architects betray:
It skirts from the absurd to the sublime.

Through the clouds,
I'm falling and the world outside
Is sifting down the greys to whites,
Then quickly whites to greys,
We're out and free but now around,
Are fleeting structures in the air,
Pretty pillars - bastions with flair.

Nature's muse that rides upon the winds,
In fuller brightness overwhelming sight,
Drapes red tooth and claw in white,
Brings forth rain to wash the sullied field,
Ascendant and ascending in enfolded layers,
Beyond itself to place its hand amongst the stars.

The sky is slate a solemn grey,
That leans into the darkest blue,
Too delicate to imprint upon the fray,
Of fiercly crossing shadows in the view.

The sky in pink and purple,
Diffusing into blue and all its multitudes,
Clouds assemble into ranks,
Tracing out an esoteric boardgame on the heavens,
Scattering orange to the pale.

I see the contoured shadows of the sky,
This rolling teal and grey that strikes me with an awe,
The air is cold tonight. Yet He is warm,
All embers of the day are spent beside.

I feel the echoes of my people,
Rustling the idle grass in patient waves,
The light falls gently at the hour,
Drawing in the clouds to its descent,
Like robes of white and sashes to its lowered face,
Humbly now it hides its glory for the day,
Set firmly into dimmer shades refracted.

Colour vision arrayed in hidden rows and spirals
Deep behind void blackness in the eyes,
To hold the light so close and dearly
That it needn't grace again the world outside,
Now cast the land in colour so it drips
With hues and saturation overwhelming,
Turn the petals into memory
The clouds a comfort for the mind.

A moody sky drags teal greys -
Greeting them with a sort of dim aqua,
At the boundary of arboreal shadows -
A quiet sky brews upon the firmament,
Like the afterglow of a chemical reaction -
The dimming blues tide over into slate.

The texture of an open space,
The vacant sky and distant blue,
Flows into hazy beams of light,
That shatter on the reeds and grass,
A tugging but withdrawing ache,
A refreshing breeze to season such a place,
The open world - that homely countryside,
Perhaps I'll long for you in time,
When I am far beneath a convoluted sky,
This place of youth and open land,
This blessed texture for a distant time perhaps.