December 4th

Sleeping cormorants

fairy lights on the far bank

Orion’s display

I was out in London, the moon and lights on the South Bank shone over the Thames. And when I got home, Orion distinctively shone out of the dark sky.

November 22nd

 

Dark and beautiful

the trees twinkle with the pale

glow of Christmas lights

photo © Mel Melis

October 29th

moonlight bathes the fields

wary beasts flat to the ground

owl shriek breaks the still

October 22nd

 

before dawn the world

stands silent bar the fox steps

a puff of breath dies

I woke up early this morning, not by choice, couldn’t get back to sleep. 4.30am, I savoured that truly magical time before dawn where people are sleeping, but out in the fields; adventures, life and death, survival. To me it was a silent time, but outside I knew things stirred and died.

October 14th

through a dark filter

sun retired, heavens cleansed of

clouds in starry night

October 8th

each storm drop painful
boulders on mottled toad skin
brown-grey, born from clay

I saw a toad crossing the road as I was driving in a heavy and sustained rain shower, it was only a brief moment, reflected in my headlamps. It passed under my wheels (yes, it was safe, from me anyway). I could tell it was a toad as it was walking in that awkward measured way of theirs. It was probably trying to find somewhere to hibernate. In the Spring they’ll make the long walk back to their spawning ground, like they do every year, to breed. Another perilous journey to come after the long sleep.
For my longer narrative poem, check my other blog Storm Toad. It’s a long skinny poem, looks nothing like a toad at all, but I think it has a measured meter about it, the slow plod, plod, plod of the toad's determined walk.

October 7th

 

Restless Little Owl

calls to Selene’s bright shilling

the oak slumbers on

There was an owl, probably in the oak, in the early hours. The moon, even though it wasn’t full, was bright. Shining right through the tree. I noticed my breath steaming for the first time this autumn. It’s getting cold.

September 23rd

 

Night circles the Day

shears the edges with winter

blades and rain soaked chill

I heard on the weather report that the day is now officially shorter than night, the autumn solstice has passed. Of course it’s an inevitability with the change in the seasons. But to hear it brought it home. The weather is gloomy and wet. I think I’ve had my last day of the year without needing a jacket. As they say in Game of Thrones, Winter is Coming.

August 30th

agitated wait

bloodshot pacing, night walking

depart in darkness

 

I should be in bed. Early early flight in the morning. Off to Ireland for Electric Picnic.

August 19th

in the dusk half light

ghost moths flutter like wishes

as yet unfulfilled

August 16th

eyes wide reflected

nocturnal adventurer

blinks and disappears

Katie our cat isn’t spending much time in the house in these mild and balmy evenings. She’s off, hunting and gallivanting. We rarely see her.

July 21st

cream winged copper eyed

resting after collisions

fairy dust scattered

Never seen one of these moths before. It’s a Swallow Tailed Moth, it came into the house, drawn to the light, the windows were open as the night was warm. I was nervous about rescuing it, Moth wings are so delicate, they are easily broken, leaving a residue of what people call “fairy dust”, the substance which folklore suggests gives them (and fairies) flight and magic. It rested after bumping into the light fitting a few times. I think it got out again, as I didn’t see it later that evening. I hope it did anyway, these particular moths are only active for a few days in July. It was so beautiful, with a white/cream fur and metallic coppery eyes.

July 6th

my insignificance

in the majesty of stars

a lonely vigil

I popped into the new Edvard Munch exhibition at the Tate Modern after work. I rushed through as I wanted to get a taste for it, as a member I can visit anytime for a more leisurely (although leisurely may be the wrong word) visit at a later date. Munch is one of my favourite painters. The collection they’ve pulled together for this exhibition is great. There is an intense loneliness about his work.

For example, Starry Night. Initially it seems this is a celebration of stars and clear crisp nights. And indeed it is. But what appears to be the artists shadow thrown across the ground just speaks of loneliness and melancholy to me. How we are alone. It moves me. As does most of his work.

(pic from Tate website)

June 28th

shadow witches perched

unblinking at the window

ragnailed and swaying

I walked into the spare bedroom in the dark the other day, before I switched on the light, I had a flashback of childhood. On windy nights, when the curtains were open, even by a tiny crack, I used to scare myself looking at the shadows of the trees breaking between the curtains, splayed on the wall. I imagined witches were out there, squatting in the trees, silently waiting for me, their long slender fingers exploring the insides of the room via their cast shadow.

And then of course I stupidly watched Salem’s Lot at one point, the Stephen King TV adaptation. Of course that was it then, it was floating vampires tapping at the window *and* tree witches from that point forward. Oh, and ghosts walking through the walls (sometimes just the dismembered floating drooling head of a ghost hovering above me) and a werewolf under the bed / in the wardrobe.

But it was all ok, as the rules were if you hid under the covers, they couldn’t touch you. Beds and blankets are the greatest ward against the supernatural. Not garlic, not silver, not holy water. A bed, with a sheet to pull over your head. Foils them every time.

Stills from Salem’s Lot below. This scene was pretty chilling. Even watching it today, this otherwise unremarkable TV horror has some great suspense and frightening moments. And David Soul is in it.

When a vampire floats up to your bedroom window and starts tapping and scratching at it, imploring you to let him in, do not, I repeat, do not invite him in. Without an invite, he’ll have to stay outside, getting bored. Just stay in bed. And pull the sheet over your head so you don’t meet his gaze, or he’ll try and beguile you to do his bidding.

Dude, what did I just say? He’s gonna mess you up now!

June 1st

 

the scent of jasmine

cicadas sing in the yard 

shooting stars kind smiles

This one talks of memories of Cyprus. Sitting out late, talking, happy times, watching the sky and being so excited as a little boy, when I saw a shooting star for the first time.

One of my aunts died. She was a lovely generous giving lady. Though she had no children of her own, she looked after everyone else with an uncomplaining unconditional duty of love. A refugee (like almost all of my family) who never returned to her home village. Behind the happiness, there was always a deep melancholy, a sense of yearning for the familiar, for even happier times, for old neighbours now scattered by war, for home, for the mountains meeting the sea and the village nestled on the coast. Sadly, my parents generation is slowly getting ill, passing on. As the youngest of all my cousins by far it throws mortality at me, the transience of our time on earth stark and ugly.

April 29th

Disconsolate wail

sick yellow light stains the air

oak breathes and listens

A cat wailed outside our door, Katie (our cat) wasn’t impressed by this, sometimes she’ll get up and investigate, but she just raised her head from the sofa and looked at me, almost suggesting I look out the window for her, as she was too lazy to get up herself.

Which I did of course, you shouldn’t defy a cat right?

I peeped through the curtains, couldn’t see any living thing, whatever cat it was it was probably annoyed at being hammered by the unrelenting rain and just coincidentally happened to voice its disapproval outside our door. My view was just the usual dim yellow of the street lamp, polluting the road and cars like a set from some cheap noir film. It was all two tone, yellow and black. The only thing I could hear was the patter of rain.

Our oak door, sturdy and alive was stretching itself into spring, it shrinks and groans with the seasons. Whatever cat it was, our door was fast shut. Behind this barrier, I thought about catching some sleep. Katie looked at me, satisfied with my work, she told me I was allowed.

March 27th

As the sun lowers

mercurial pipistrelle

skims stone cottages

 

Saw a bat as I was driving home the other night. They are so tiny and manoeuvrable, always looking frantic and busy, yet still elegant in night flight. Forever catching insects. Pretty little things.

March 26th

 

Aphrodites pearl

Ares chariot charges

Blood against the sky

 

I noticed a couple of friends on twitter / facebook suggesting going outside to have a look at the planets clear in the sky. And yes, there was Venus, massively bright, next to the quarter moon, Jupiter just below and higher up, Mars, twinkling pink/red. We walked to the edge of the moors where the light pollution would be less and although I’m not really a stargazer I have to say I was impressed.

Perfect for a haiku about Greek gods. Why Greek gods? Well, flippin’ Romans, what have they ever done for us? Coming over here, nicking our women, nicking our Gods….

March 25th

Laughter crackling flames

Footpad’s silent steps avoid

Plots most foul and grave

 

So this Haiku is about an event from the previous night. Does it particularly matter that it wasn’t about an event on that specific day? Not really.

As I walked through the moors at dusk (see previous Haiku for March 24th) I could hear laughter, it was either on the edge of the moor or in one of the big gardens. Then I saw the bonfire and the silhouettes of people’s frames against the bright light of the flames.

It put me on edge, I initially thought it was people being brazen and messing about in the moors, but of course it wasn’t. My eyes had played tricks on me and it was a bonfire in someone's garden. They were having a party. But it didn’t stop me from thinking I was a level 9 Halfling rogue, hiding in shadows to get round the orc encampment. Many lost years playing Dungeons and Dragons led to this horrendous paranoid imagination of mine.

March 19th

Behind the blackouts

a faultless sky forgiving

alive and lucid

 

Blackout curtains are great, I think they help me to sleep better. The absence of light helps me to turn off part of my brain and leads to restful nights. I like the lottery of mornings, blearly eyed, staggering to the window to open it a peep. Check what the weather is like. How do I know it’s morning if I keep going on about flippin’ blackout curtains? Because I’ve got an alarm silly! Dur!

Anyway this morning was beautifully sunny, my pupils shrunk in pain at the sunlight assault pouring through onto my retinas. When they adjusted a bit I looked out to a perfect blue sky. The clouds were absent. Wonderful.