A Late October Day

Poetry by Clive Johnson, author of The Dica Series

This earth, that from the sun averts its gaze,
As if to say, “You have forsaken me,”
Gathers to its darkened face a sombre light
Of greys laid stark behind bare branches black.

Hollow caw the crows o’er cracked-brown fields,
No longer trod by ploughman’s laboured team,
Long gone its tinkling tack and wake of gulls,
As silent now as was its coulter’s scythe.

Beyond, upon a hill not far away,
Beneath a plait of smoke in heaven’s draw,
A glint of light lets stray a lamp’s allure
To lead my feet in search of heart’s desire.

Pale lichens hang from hawthorn, ash and oak,
As spectres lent the corners of my eyes
Where dark tales as told a child do lie,
Enough for hand to gather coat yet close.

Over stile, beside a brook, on I bear
As gurgling fall of water here tempts I
To wanton wishes of…

View original post 120 more words

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s