Destination moon

Oh moon.
Delicate face still aglow with the pale fire light of sunsets last kiss.
You wait in fragile poise and look down on man's restful night.

Lonely vigil in a cold sky. Every child's dream and every question why
Held in your clear wondering gaze.

Unseen through today's turquoise skys but in the dark void of space you hang in stony guise
Awaiting the sun's embrace which only our earth witholds.

May we never reach you
Mysterious moon mother
Watcher
Wonderer
Tide changer.

Leaving

The wind whips up from the valley floor

And more leaves fall

More than before

I was never this happy or lost

Not since the cherry blossom fell

And I counted each flower as if to tell

How long the spring would last

Then I saw you

As if the whole of nature were a door

Don't leave me to the chill wind

And fallen leaves

Let me see your smiling eyes once more.

Joe August 2017

Tudor garden

Nesting Fledglings squabble in the window box next crushed rose wafting scent from rain dropped petal.

The lawn is lush green and black bird bobs furtively across the wide patch.

Dappled sun and shadow from shady beech and dug earth deep trodden rich and sweet.

Lamb and dew eyed ewe chew seemingly distracted but ever alert while martins swoop. Beneath the thatch.

The old crow knows and tells. Three times and is gone.

February Lamb

Today the grass and sky are shining
In perfect sunny hue
The land soaked clean by Winter's snow
And everything made new.

Today everyone is up and out
The breeze is bracing
Fresh and clean
The birds are busy in hedge and tree
While circling buzzards keen.

Remember this day of brand new life
Revealed from neath it's shroud
With it's promise of new beginnings
And mother of newborn proud

For March is round the corner
With temper hard and stern
Winter's ire has one last blast
Afore the seasons turn.

So when the gales and tempests roar
And the sky's fair face is marred
Remember the day you glimpsed this joy
And let is gladden your aching heart.



Written for my Niece, Dulcie "Hope"

Joe Morriss

Feb 2009

Beginning of March

There was a time when hope was in vain
It never ceased to freeze and rain
Sleet turned to ice and then back again

The barren womb of Winter lay
Forgotten by flower 
Untouched by sun's ray
The bare branch blew
Day after grey day

Then the season shifted
Certain changes came
The shelving of rich hearthside legends
The talk of many a muffled walk
Like the sap which surges through stem and stalk.

Like a sign of life
The sun shone that day
An emblem of the everlasting
Lambs leaping at your coming
The Lark signing its skyward longing.

With face as yet unseen
This spring-child comes
Yet we hear his heartbeat like distant drums
And though the hope of many dies
We face the day with faith filled eyes.

Joe Morriss

March 2008

Silver Cloud

Bright sunlight

Cloud and sunlight

Slate grey water sparkles bright

Silver sunlight

Shines through grey cloud

Full of snow

Topped with blue and white

Joe Morriss

February 2012

Don't let them blow away

I walked out on a blowy day
I thought as I went along my way
At how the world is so full of people
Cars and houses too.
So many different clothes and faces
So many different colours and races

And then I felt a burden come
To know the meaning of this one
What am I, one man, to do
With so many souls
Just passing through?

So there I sat upon a bench
Until I thought my heart would wrench
I asked the Father to speak to me
What is my life supposed to be?

The the wind blew
Gusting strong
And all the leaves started racing along
They scurried and skipped
And danced and tripped

My thoughts were stirred
My gaze fixed upon
As if God had just
"where I blow....men follow along"
They have no choice but to live and then die,
To blow from here to where, and why?

In a lull, the wind abated
The rushing stopped, next gust awaited
A passer-by without asking why
Just stopped and picked up a tumbled leaf...
My heart skipped a beat
I leapt from my seat! 

Again the multitude raced by
And I quickly stopped one which caught my eye
Then I stumbled after the next
Gathering, laughing
Out of breath!

On and on they aimlessly raced
But I'd saved a few from an unknown place

To stop and hold these passing leaves
Brought great joy, at last, to me
I realised exactly what God would say
"These leaves are like souls...don't let them blow away".

Joe Morriss
2005

Summer

Sultry Summer sun
What secrets you must hide
Basking and complete
in your bright, hot sky

The day has been long
From first light to noontide
But now you wear your hazy-halo lazily
Dazzling like a gold coin
On dusk's deep blue velvet

The morning was like a glass
Turned to catch and mirror your flashing glance
The cold air
Soon dried by your relentless glare

All across the field
The green grass withers at your stare
Burnt stalks tinder dry
fading fast in the furnace heat

Hard worked for riches and all man's toil
Is lost in a dry and crusty soil
But here also stands a tree
Heavily verdant and full bodied
Its leafy boughs weighed down with promise
Laden with welcome shade

O crown of the seasons
Though short lived
Your reign is full of power
You ride out like a victor in his finest hour

Across heaven's vault
Golden orb in your hand
Purging and scouring
With your righteous brand.

Joe Morriss

2007

Sunset

Silence surrounds the smouldering flame

As it sinks into a sea of burning turquoise.

Across the wide expanse it fans its rays

And on the horizon finds its poise.

A backdrop of burning blue

Scalded into coppery green

Coral clouds licked with crimson hue

Flecked with amber and golden sheen.

Jet trails sparkle and then fade into charcoal

Scoring the bold wash of pastel

While sulfurous wisps of yellow and grey

Hang superimposed then melt away.

Our ambitions and plans and excited thoughts

Hopes in the heat of the moment wrought

Like the cloud, they vanish to obscurity

Insignificant against life's bold reality.

Changing illumination renews its wonder

Causing each gilt edged feature to shine

The colours deepen into a molten splendour

While the fire intensifies as it dies.

As I wonder at this vast display

The subtle change takes my breath away

The expansive love of God's own heart

Requires reflection, not a fleeting glance.

The last light of the longest day fades

And the land withdraws into shadowy stillness

The embers smoulder and ebb away

As the first bright star rises into the velvety darkness.

The fire of life burns with youthful zeal

But passing glory soon loses its appeal

Eventually the darkness will come creeping in

But there is another light which shines within.

Still warm and graced by a gentle breeze

The dusky evening now slips by 

And the river winds its way with ease

While birds fly home across the western sky.

We all will come to that place in the west

Where at last we will find our rest

But far beyond the setting sun

Eternal day has just begun.

This earthly day has come to its close

No light in which to pass the hours

But just as the evening star arose

So shines a brighter sun than ours.

Joe Morriss

21st June 2010

Dedicated to the memory of Mr David Williams - a man with a heart for the next generation.

Side by Side

So Winter had its long complaint
We sat and waited while it rained
Cold, wet and bleak
When icy wind
Would blow and buffet unrestrained

Then came the time for Spring to break
"About time too!" was our refrain
But no, not so
The North wind returned
And brought more snow instead of rain.

So new shoots poke through
Just as planned
Quite despite the frosted land
New growth on trees
Despite the freeze
Boldly budding, if you please!

The world in white and cold disdain
Of all the sunshine trying in vain
Of flowers emerging from woodland floor
Nothing but mud and slush in the thaw

So springtime smiles at Winter's frown
Sun in the sky and snow on the ground
"Here we are just side by side"
Who should stay
Do you think they'll decide?

Joe Morriss

March 2013

I Remember - A rural rant!

I remember when all this was fields,
You could see for miles
With not a soul in sight
The lane ended in a welcome meadow
With a pond that held all kinds of delight.

The cows roamed and chewed the cud
And the trusting Lark made her nest on the ground
And all around
Not a sound.

Save that of the distant bleating
Of sheep and quiet birds nesting
And chirping in the hedgerow.

For far, far away then was the road
The highway of man
And his planners, plotters and schemers all
First bikes then cars
Then screaming jets and choppers

Far from the quiet countryside
But ever nearer it came
With its huge crawling machines
Spitting out soil and root and turf
The men of spoil
Tearing and churning up the earth.

You didn't see the carefully hidden vole
Or delicate anemone
To the fox and the badger
No friend but and enemy.

So you built your road
And then tore along it
Caring not about the carnage to the wildlife
Your great highway to the high life
Pound signs before your eyes
Blotting out all signs of life

I remember when all this was fields
You could see from one hilltop to the next
No motorway or dual carriageway
Or hideous factory units
Waiting to be let

Now there's your road
Your stinking dusty road
Belching out fumes
And filth and tar
Dirtying hedgerows
With your brand-new cars

Gone, its all gone
The picture book walk by the brook
With blackberry, rose and birdsong
And the smell of fresh mown hay.

All we have left is houses
Ribbon development
Finger development
A finger in every damn pie
And every stinking lie
Has just led to rot and decay

I remember when all this was fields...

Joe Morriss

Harpole 24th January 2011

The Whispering Bridge

The Whispering Bridge

The season turned and my heart filled with gladness;

“This will be a spring without sadness”

.

But the sky spoke of one more storm;

“Can I weather another?” I wondered,

And leaned back onto the warm stone.

The storm was over before it had begun,

And the sun shone.

While the water whispered eagerly under the bridge

I sat and listened to the stones,

Giving voice to the current;

“Peace”,

 said the river.

Joe Morriss

Flore, May 2014

Sunrise

Here I stand

Alone

save for the sentinel star

A silent witness of the breaking day

And of the receding of the dark.

The city is marked by twinkling lights

In the valley neath its shroud

With orange beads scattered across the remaining night

It rests and waits without a sound

Pale light creeps slowly over the horizon

And the fields turn from grey to green

The Lark is the first to call

As standing horses stir in their quiet stall

A gentle breeze blows fresh and true 

Wisps of white 'cross the virgin blue

Wafting scent of clammy crops 

As trees awake  with rustling tops,  shake off the morning dew . 

A blush of cockle-pink and yellow mixed

Shows above a band of dark damson

Dappled with grey

Scattered islands lonely drift on tepid sky

As if in an ocean far away

All is white light now

And a rush of birdsong announces the dawn

I turn to the East

As the day is gently born

Gathered and grey

Then suddenly lit from below

The expectant womb of cloud catches fire

As a blazing embryo emerges to climb higher

Then the sun swiftly shows his head

Rippling with molten gold

Rises through a furnace of cherry red

And with newborn zeal 

Takes his hold

All nature now takes its true colour

By the light of this bright child

Risen in splendour like a golden mirror

He spreads his crown over the exultant sky

These joys are mine eternal

A new day has begun

My faith has been rewarded

By the rising of the sun.

Joe Morriss

July 2010 

The Sea

"Sea", say it again!

Splashing, sun, soaring clouds, shining sea

And the sky...

Oh the blue, endless bright blue

Azure arch of the heavens

As if a golden gateway

Blue, blue blue

Unbroken, unmatched...sky high,

Seagulls fly!

Salty spray, ocean wide, flecked with white

As far as sight.

Rock ledge, lands edge

Brittle wedge of grey granite.

The pecking gull,

Snail spotting in the seaweed strewn pool

A moist, tender belly - upturned,

Withering noonday heat and webbed feet

Drying and dying.

The boat bobs benignly,

Just out of reach

Of the surf roaring onto the beach.

"Sea", say it again!

Summertime's soft sand on a lonely strand

Bees in the heather, warmer weather

Couples together

Walk hand in hand.

Joe Morriss

June 2004

Harvest of Souls

A field before me

Bright and gold

A harvest of souls

Rolling pasture

Number untold

My heart yearns to reach out

Reap the trust of these ones

Lost and hurting

But where to begin?

Stop them in the street

Under duress

Hard pressed

To tell them of this love within?

And by the field

Are two trees

One is barren

The other has leaves

Mistakes of the past

Over which one grieves

The other's blossom is a promise

Of continuing life and fruit to come

This is faith

Which can be believed upon.

Back in the yield

Poppies adorn the field

Scarlet and bright

Scars from the fight

But blood is thicker than water

And here is a deeper red flower

It speaks of a death

Of love, of power

A love for the lost

Counting the cost

Reaching and restoring.

And so my harvest is not great

One man in a million

I try, I cry, but it's getting late

What can I do but gather?

Fill both my hands

Hold what I can

And keep holding...  

Joe Morriss

August 2006

Autumn

There's goodness abounds at Autumn time

If only you know where to look

There's change and subtle beauty

In wood and field and brook

With golden leaves next copper bronze

And early evening's Blackbird songs

Acorn, nut and bright red berry

And fresh brown soil

Which makes the apple merry.

There's goodness abounds at Autumn time

If only you have time to wait

The mellow sun turns green to gold

And daisies dance around the gate.

Morning's dew in misty fields

and across the valley

The harvest bell peals.

Furrowed earth by tractor tilled

And every barn with grain is filled

There's goodness abounds at Autumn time

If only you don't mind the grey

The air's still warm and bonfires burn

And kids come out to play

The summer calf is fully grown

And all his grass is neatly mown

Leaf and branch

To the winds are thrown

The verdant Virginia creeper glows

Deep red with approaching age

Fallen fruit is mature and yellow

Like the hand which turns this season's page.

Joe Morriss

October 2006

Red - Brown Wings

Master of the winds

With red-brown wingspan grand

And keen eye fixed on field and furrow

Iconic figure of the wild and far reaching land

The Kite soars above mountain and plain

With careless abandon he makes a tour of the horizon

For a moment he is down among the hedgerows

Then, at a glance, rises aloft again.

Down here, at the foot of the hills

On the tawny heath

Amidst scrubby heather and the long grasses

A smaller creature is picked out in minute detail

Also with red-brown wings

The meadow butterfly

Tiny and tossed by the breeze

But no less a pilot

Navigating her carefree way across the scudded moor

Playfully she dances along the travelers' track 

And vainly keeps up her silent score.

In amongst the trees now,

Ancient Oak and spreading Beech

Under shafts of gold and early summer's vibrant green

A woodland stream

Makes its way downhill

Bubbling between the fern-banks like a cheerful child

There upon a mossy branch

Sits the Chaffinch, in his red-brown coat

Not in a hurry but at a glance

Takes in the peaceful scene

From his well-visited vantage post.

I may not reach the lofty height

Home of the majestic Kite

Wheeling in the empty sky

Nor am I a butterfly.

But I would chose the peaceful glade

A realm of quietness and shade

The refuge of the common bird

Where his still small voice can yet be heard.

Joe Morriss

June 2008

The Lone Gull's Cry

The thundering sea

Cold cascading foam in tormented torrents

Runs in rivulets across jagged stone features

Grey granite edge

Dark dripping and forbidding

The cliff's jaw juts out in protest

Defiant and unforgiving

native birds around it cry

Wheeling and calling plaintively

To the barren sky

And in return from the rocks below

...No reply.

Timeless, the chafing tides

have coursed against this stubborn earth

Surging waves come relentlessly pounding in

Engulfing gullies with their crashing surf.

The sucking swell explores every rent and chasm

And retreats only to return in force

The sea pours in, satisfied that nothing is left unknown

Of this forsaken rocky facade

"Why me god?"

Why the jagged edge, the icy spray?

Why this remote and empty

Wind scoured bay?

The only answer to my cry for reprieve

Comes from a watery sky above the heath

....The lone Gull's cry.

Forlorn of flower or friendly face

"Why have you brought me to such a desolate place?"

The edge of the world

This shattered crust

Like the soul of a man

From whom love is thrust

Hard, unyielding, edged by stone

It stands against the ocean,

Vast, bleak and alone.

Joe Morriss

December 2008

The Working Man's Horizon

Every man has an horizon

The broad sweep of his apprehension

His habitat and the extent of his toil

Hard worked for land and landscape

Familiar ruts and dykes

Dug from his native soil.

Bounded by well walked woody lanes and hedgerows

Full of verdant texture and shape

With pretty worts and flowers

Of varying hue

Scattered round the fence and gate.

Secret animal tracks run here and there

Deserted by day, but at night a thoroughfare.

The sound of birdsong, sweet and true

Echoes through wood and treetop too,

Their song is a praise to God's restful busyness

A counterpoint to man's fruitless restlessness.

As I walk this well worn boundary

And make my way through the familiar yield

I feel the promise of familiar paths

The solid safety of the spacious field.

And with the hearts of all humble, working men

The desire to dream and hope again.

Joe Morriss

19th May 2010

Dog Rose

Dog rose rests in budded beauty

Waiting on the eve of summer's morn

When she will awake to sweet scented elderflower,

And see green June

With his rolling fields

And well watered, full bodied trees.

Blackbird makes her nest

Low in the hedgerow

Fussing about with dusty stick and stem

She chirps and chides

Ceaselessly calling the evening chimes

Ale fair

And fair festival in the village there,

The calf and his mother stand swishing

On a small plot of pasture

In the twighlight, feeding,

With steady gaze and shuffling hoof.

Hidden in the long grass

Suffering poppy shelters

Scorched by the noonday heat

She flutters in the evening breeze

And sheds her wilted, crimson leaves

Shire ponies gather round

Next the well trodden trough

The falling field gate,

Wood rubbed and thinly worn.

Lamb and yew look on contented,

And with the rose

Await the dawn

Joe Morriss

31st May 2010