November 27th

a stack of gulls climb

shoot through grey rain ready skies

puncturing the clouds

August 28th

 

the light retreating

days curl up in pink sunsets

summer hibernates

a pic I took from our bedroom window

August 5th

hammer swings wind sings

clouds billow devour the blue

burst and roar downpour 

I like it when the world goes dark when thunder is imminent. Thor’s giving it large in the sky again.

July 20th

the clouds begin at

the mouth of the dull chimneys

spewing in drizzle

Ferrybridge Power Station (I think), Yorkshire. Taken on the Motorway, heading towards Leeds.

July 11th

moody sky bloated

ground bound ugly bitter grey

manifestation

June 29th

 

the wind drags the sky

cloud watcher rests in goose down

an empty pastime

June 21st

 

take joy in the dawn

hold hands and watch the clouds drift

tell her you love her

Last night was the summer solstice, the longest day of the year of course. Often synonymous with eccentric hirsute druids performing rites at Stonehenge :)

From antiquity to the present it has been celebrated, as a high point of the year, but being the misery I am, I always feel sad at midsummer.

Why? The days are getting shorter now. The sun’s arc will diminish over the next two seasons, we’ll see less and less of her, till late December, when the Winter solstice will signal the time the days will get longer again. That time is of course associated with our modern Christmas, adopted from the pagan tradition. I’ve always loved Christmas, they were happy times as a kid. The excitement of getting one or two presents, which I would cherish. I feel sorry for modern kids, I’m not sure they feel the same wonderment of receiving a gift, don’t get the same emotional rush and the appreciation that someone has sacrificed and saved to buy you something (of course I hope they do). It’s not their fault of course, it’s just where our society’s path has taken us. Presents aren’t something special now, they’ve moved into a consumable space.

After Christmas, there is the let down and harsh months of January and February, a penance for the excitement of the festive time. And March, when the birds return, the flowers blossom and the trees deck themselves in green. It’s also my birthday in March. And that’s when my dormant happiness stirs again.

Amongst other things, I thought of Nick Drake today. And his beautiful song From the Morning. What lovely lyrics. Sad and Happy. Loss and Life. Wonder and Reflection. It says so much to me at the moment.

 

From the Morning (Nick Drake)

A day once dawned, and it was beautiful
A day once dawned from the ground
Then the night she fell
And the air was beautiful
The night she fell all around.
So look see the days
The endless coloured ways
And go play the game that you learnt
From the morning.
And now we rise
We are everywhere
And now we rise from the ground
See she flies
And she is everywhere
See she flies all around
So look see the sights
The endless summer nights
And go play the game that you learnt
From the morning

June 13th

Cloud peak horizon

another coastline melting

rays of regret rise

I stayed up all night and watched the sunrise.

Two of the photos I took.

May 1st

Vision in the spray

eggshell clouds crack, vapour fades

Apollo’s favour

It had been bucketing it down all day. As I was driving home after playing football (I scored a pearler, curled right into the top corner) the clouds parted to reveal a radiant sun. Shame it was so late in the day, but at least the Sun god blessed us.

April 22nd

Gaze turns to the oak

eater of storms and vivid

in the solar glare

 

The oak tree visible from our back window is impressive, that distinctive shape, the arc of branches, that sturdy trunk, unyielding. It’s anytime going to be sprouting green, at the moment it still hints at winter, with it’s barren appearance. It does not detract from how magnificent it looks. Especially when the sun bathes it in light and the clouds behind it are black and threatening. Only an oak can hold it’s own when the weather makes war with itself.

Here is a pic of it I took earlier this evening.

April 5th

 

Eyes writhe in the swirl

of dark clouds whispering rain  

for the broken earth

 

It wasn’t a very nice day, it occasionally spat a few drops onto the ground. The sky matched my headache, filled with heavy oppression.  

January 26th

Heavy lids, aching,

Fitful sleep, dark dreams, dark clouds,

Keep writing, thinking.

 

I felt and feel rather ill today. Had only a few hours sleep, interrupted by sore throat and a raging thirst. Was meant to go up to Yorkshire for work, but I couldn’t possibly do it. So I worked from home. A long old day too. This morning, I could feel the cold boring into me, my brain in some sort of fuzzy cocoon, sheltered and distant.

The dark clouds just added to this feeling of melancholy. I was in a bit of a daze, but there is a kind of perverse enjoyment in this feeling too. I feel creative and different when I’m ill. Sadness brings out the best in my writing. Shame my creative attention was distracted by my day job, this was a day I could have happily curled up in bed with a laptop and did a bit of stream of consciousness. Sadly, despite the big build up, today’s Haiku isn’t the best. Never mind. It’s not even the end of the first month and I’m struggling. But working long hours with only a laptop screen and small window to look out of (and Loose Women on ITV when I have my lunch) doesn’t give me much inspiration.

I hope I’m better tomorrow, I must’ve had 5000 calories today. Need fresh air and exercise. And sleep, blessed sleep.