On the mend

I once had a jar I loved and kept

Whole and smooth

Innocent curves cold to the touch

A piece of modest beauty

Functional and fey

I smashed it

It made the point

In jagged brown and grey

Lots of points and shards

Under the merciless hammer of my anger.

Was that the end of beauty?

Cold stone cut fine and shaped

Once useful and pleasing

Now smashed in awkward pieces

Falling through fingers.

What a waste.

But as I wept

A brother's careful hands took each piece

Assembled and connect

The art of love

Worked whilst I slept

The jar made whole in every part

Mended the shards of my broken heart.

Sorrow may endure for the night

But joy comes with the morning

Joe Morriss
January 2018

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.

This is my garden

I stand at the top of my garden. A patch of golden straw at my feet and the spade in my hand.

I feel the familiar worn wood of the handle and smile for a moment.

This is my garden. I know it well. Every nook and cranny.

And it knows me well too. Every pathway and tussock has felt my footstep.

Every border lovingly tended.

The sound of the stream and many moments spent in relaxation and sunlit meditation.

Many hours spent in toil and satisfying sweat. Crafting the landscape.

So this is my garden. I'm enjoying the view.

I stand at the top on this golden patch of straw.

The garden I know so well . The colours the smell .

I don't know what lies ahead, when it's time to leave . I don't know that there will be another garden like this one.

But there will be a place where I will leave my mark just like before and I know that I have the tools and more importantly the faith to do the job.

Joe Morriss

October 2017

Arabian nights

A fleeting glance

Caught in the mirror. Movement stilled and a faint glimmer

Of light. Deep in the night

I trace the lines which spell no name

Describe no place but all we ever were

Is there in technicolour detail

I didn't forget

One

Single

Thought

Deep in the night hours

A gentle breath sustains me

All that restrains is left loose and scattered

Everyday tasks await the dawn and for now

All is calm

All that we had was ours

I never can deny the face in the mirror

Eyes that must be looked at

A mouth which must speak

A path through the desert

A myth of recollection

I trace those lines again

To be sure nothing was missed

They tell the same story

Over and again

Do you think along the same lines?

Do you ever tell yourself the story of your life

In the night?

Do you call out for company

Do you long for a wild path midst desert and ocean

Fall into a trance

Glance in the mirror

Trace the lines behind the glimmer

Of light

Deep in the night

Arabian night.

Crossing that bridge

Turgid water and the spume over rocks flies face up to the sun, sparkling in droplets into the verdant banks

My thoughts race and I follow the stream , ankle deep the cold numbing my sense of touch. Feeling Rock bottom feeling the rush.

The stream is trout deep and dappled by the shingle . It crawls to its edge to lap gently . My pace slows and I feel the tug of the still eager current.

Skin tingles. The shadows mingle . The canopy above filters sunlit  chlorophyll. And I'm at peace. Thoughts stillled

Stones disturb the flow and give voice to the water which fills, the silence. I collect my muse and give voice. My heart spills over the gurgling rills.

The bridge is reached and reaches the span.

Only a whisper is heard in the trees as the surface of the stream responds to a soft breeze. I breathe.

A place to stop. To think . To express. To move on from here. Leave the current and the winding course of imagination and find solid ground.

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

Cornflower

I wondered what it would be like to wear you with pride

Buttoned close over my heart

With all the others

Ready and blue

To tell of true love

Swaying amid the grasses

The theme of every song

To know love and to keep love

Chase with abandon

Find with purpose

Emblem of the eternal gift

Waking to the dream

Whispering at the stream.

Joe August 2017