The frog won’t jump in
The water is too quiet
Hungry heron waits
The water is too quiet
Hungry heron waits
 View of Sun Setting Over Severn Estuary From Newport Wetlands RSPB Reserve I strolled down Long Street to the sound
of birds and cows on a fine May evening to reach the estuary: sunset clouds transforming placid water as if it were aflame. A small boat was moored, I watched the ducks drift, the tranquil scene giving my soul a lift, gentle ripples and far from crowds just the obligatory dog-walkers as I admired bluebells on the verdant shore. A mound was all that remained of a wooden 12th Century Norman castle yet I pictured it in days long gone by as I relaxed...under a sunset sky Yesterday I looked behind me
and I saw myself as a child, running towards today with my eyes wide open, joyful as a child can be. Today I'm looking at tomorrow... Not surprised what I see. So, I want to close my eyes, sad as only a man can be. The cold air entered through the ajar window,
It smelled of wildflowers and morning fog. The horizon cracked revealing the shadows Of the sleeping in the distance towns. It was much too early to wake up, Much too late to fall asleep. I hanged somewhere between these two states, Unable to do anything, But think of you. Summer’s gentle wind
herding clouds across pale skies and home before night When azure skies give way to clouds of grey
thunderstorms suck water vapors that freeze cloudbursts transform, sending hail to the fray and frigidaire airstreams exhale icy breeze. Round white pellets assault roof lines and streets like glacier diamond droplets grown in size pierce witches on broomstick with snowy sheets unearthly rumblings resound heaven’s sighs. Swept by wind gusts like Dorothy in Oz crystal blizzards accost my hands and face weathering bombardments, man with a cause landing feet first with catlike skill and grace. Knocking ruby boot heels on sandy loam I hum the mantra, “There’s no place like home.” I'm staring out at the clear night sky,
my breath like mist rolling into the air but the view is not as days of old, more and more neon lights pollute and the situation worsens every year for in the once pristine atmosphere poets and writers were inspired, now just ghosts from long ago. Oh, the moon shines with all its majesty but stars compete with the city far below and although still an alluring sight I lament the loss of stars at night. Put clothes on
this poem. Dress it into a job at the office, a day with the children, a watched rainbow. Otherwise people too embarrassed for words will look the other way. Blowing downriver
the chilling winds of autumn scattering raindrops With such a powerful name,
Who can’t embrace you? Though criminals misuse your name, And entrepreneurs found a niche in it, Nothing will turn us away from you! Nothing can ever compare to your touch! Since we owe you, even, our breaths, Nothing can ever repay your debts. Moreover, your mercy and might are unrivaled. GOD, the omnipresent, you are a wonder! My heart is a handful, my heart is a fraud, my heart is a frog in a box
My heart is cold and my head is hot, a curious paradox And she's falling, falling into your arms Can you shield her from hate? will you keep her from harm? From breaking, from aching, forsaking her maker? My heart has stepped off the battlefield, my heart it is wounded and sore My heart is hungry, my heart is full, my heart can't take any more My heart has a murmur, we talk at night, she tells me she is blue My heart is broken, my heart is sick, it lies in a sticky pool My heart's a machine that hasn't stopped yet My heart is a pusher and I am in debt My heart is a dealer in recycled blood My heart is a pump in an endless flood lub-dub lub-dub lub-dub
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PoetryThis is the section where fiction prose becomes something else. We still expect the poems to be short, though – sonnets, perhaps, or around that length at the very most. 
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June 2023
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