The bough

The wind stirred in the bough

I felt the gentle filligree

Of a thousand blossoms

Falling beneath the gentlest of touches

Your thoughts are greater than mine

But each new bud of inspiration and question

Is teased by the breeze

And set free

To grow and bask in the balmy evening sun

As with every tousle each tangle

Is undone

You're breath caresses my troubled mind

I breath in the freshness and see the vivid

Colours of spring

It's a new day

Come alive

Move with the wind while it's time

Joe morriss

April 2018

Son of man

Before you were king you were a son

You looked up into your mother's eyes

Watched your father's hands

What thing was your muse?

Taught your heart to sing

The song that would carry to distant lands

Son of labour

You worked in desert heat

Son of nature

You  took bitter with the sweet

Son of people

You spoke the common tongue

Son of sorrow

You died when you were Young

Before you reigned you served

You tended wounds of soul and flesh

You felt the pain of your best friends death

How many times was your tender heart broken?

Just to hear your father's voice spoken.

Son of the earth

With working hands

Son of history

Of life's short span

Son of a Nation

Hopes last stand

Son of eternity

The son of man

Joe morriss

25.2.2018

Fresh day

Birdsong in the trees
Blue sky on a winter's day
The morning sun
Blowing away the cobwebs
I shake off my frosty jacket
The air is fresh in my lungs
Ready for life ready for change
Ready to engage with humanity
Diversity unpredictable
False hopes and tarnished dreams
Left in nights clinging cold
Today is an adventure

JM 4.2.18

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.