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.

Seal

Swimming sublimely in the surf

Environment is everything when you're 90percent blubber

Although on shore you look black and sleek in your wet suit rubber

Life is full of little wrinkles.

Through the open window

The airplane drones sleepily overhead, and
With it you awake to the day.
Through the open window
Morning breathes her first breath
Silver brightness tinged with golden ray

See them playing in the garden
Hear their happy laughter as they pass
The same endless day, 
Year after year
When the lark sings
And you walk through the long meadow grass.

Moments like these are like a window
You can almost see through it to times gone by
Back to every summer you remember
Childhood at it's zenith
And framed in the window
The bright blue sky.

Joe Morriss

24th May 2010

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.

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

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

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