Pages.

More poems.

Pages.

In the quiet room, where light

dances through the half-open window,

a book lies open, its spine

cracked like the dry earth

after a long summer.

Words, like seeds, are sown in the mind,

each sentence a furrow, each paragraph

a field to be cultivated.

The reader, alone with the text,

is both sower and reaper.

There is a solitude in reading,

a detachment from the world,

as though one has entered a chrysalis

from which they will emerge transformed.

The characters whisper their secrets,

their voices more real than the hum

of the world outside the window.

In their confessions, a mirror

reflecting the reader's own hidden self.

Time loses its grip here,

hours dissolve into the narrative's flow,

the sun arcs across the sky

unnoticed by the one who has

fallen into the world within pages.

This is an alchemy, a transmutation—

ink and paper conjured into life and emotion,

the reader, a silent witness

to the unfolding drama,

feels the stirrings of empathy, of understanding.

Kernow ceilings.

In Cornwall's embrace, beneath the sweeping skies,

Where azure meets the sea in silent greet,

The clouds, in grand procession, softly rise,

Casting their shadows over fields of wheat.

The Cornish sky, a vast and endless stage,

Commands the cliffs and moors with gentle sway,

A canvas broad, on which the sun engages

To paint the close of each resplendent day.

Here, under such a grand celestial dome,

The drama of the earth unfolds below,

The fleeting moments, in the twilight's gloam,

Are touched by the sun’s departing glow.

Where horizon and the ocean's edge collide,

The sky performs its melancholy play,

A scene of vast, unfathomable tide,

That sweeps our trivial concerns away.

The gulls, with their unbridled, lofty flight,

Against the backdrop of the dimming sky,

Seem to scorn our earthbound, anchored plight,

With freedom that makes the heart sigh.

In evenings, when the light begins to wane,

And shadows blend the sea with the land,

The sky, alight with day's last fiery mane,

Whispers tales of ancient, time-worn sand.

This spectacle, untouched by time's swift march,

Brings solace to the soul in quiet ways,

A reminder of the sky’s eternal arch,

Under which our transient lives blaze.

Here, beneath the vast, Cornish sky's expanse,

We find a moment’s peace, a tranquil grace,

A timeless dance of light and circumstance,

In this, our fleeting, earthly space.

Haiku’s.

Lizzy in the breeze,

Dancing with the autumn leaves,

Joy in every step.

Yellow whispers light,

Sun-kissed fields in gentle sway,

Dawn's first breath alight.

In the glass, twilight,

Vines’ secret, aged and refined,

Stories sipped in time.

Ancient sentinels,

Whispering leaves tell old tales,

Roots deep in earth's tale.

Hi, thank you so much for reading. Sorry it may not be up to my usual standards, having to work on my phone to write as my laptop is dead!!Fancy buying me a coffee?That would be so awesome if you could and would help my work towards a new laptop.