Rain on the mountain

Tell me 

Is that rain on the mountain ?Is the cloud coming 'cross the sea to the shore ?

Tell me, is that rain on the mountain? Does this mean that i'll see you no more ?

 We met on a rock in the ocean And basked in the sun for a while 

We talked of our love and devotion and how it would span across miles .

But as we started to fly 

I fell from the sky

 And left you alone in the clouds 

I called out for you as I searched for the blue 

But the darkness was thick like a shroud . 

Tell me is there still rain on the mountain ? 

Will I fly all alone in this storm ? 

Or will you meet me again in our haven and wait  for my strength to restore.

For Adela with all my love 

September 2021 

Your Joseph 

Mercy at ground zero

This barren ground which I have found , is spreading beauty all around .

The place of pain , of anger , shame . We turned away from in the rain . 

The epitaph for all to see , the hopeful symbol of the tree, even this  cut down in prime , and all that's left were rings of time . 

Seasons turned  as did the years and still remained the place of tears.

And then this moment which appears . Mercy midst the rolling spheres. Returning home to face the fears ,  I can embrace what happened here . 

 Resolve to dig, remove the weeds , to wait for rain and plant new seed . 

Joe Morriss 

13/9/21

The Whispering Bridge revisited

The flow begins 

As soon as I stop walking 

I start thinking 

The bridge sits across the banks 

I sit cross-legged,  meditating 

The river runs through my mind 

Submerged rocks disrupt the flow 

Words form as the river gurgles to its destination.

Whispered secrets

Only heard from here 

A place of reflection on the journey 

As the sun sparkles on the rippling water 

Churn and travel 

Sojourn , unravel 

At the whispering bridge 

Joe Morriss

The Nene at Flore

April 2021 

Leather Tramp

I saw the epitaph set in stone 

' here lies a man who was born to roam' 

He never knew a happy home 

So he gave up

What he could not own

When the leather is wet 

It'll stretch and bend 

A time to etch 

A time to mend 

But when its dry 

Its hard as bone 

Ain't nothing worse

Than to die alone 

By Joe may 2021 

Inspired by ' into the wild' john mccandless story

The Journey

 We all have our places of beginning and preset destinations.....but oh, the journey , the journey , on a path less travelled,  a way that emerges with every brave adventurous step. Where the wild things have their secret origin.  The fleet footed deer , the quiet stoat and secret bird nest these places I share with those who know me best

Joe Morriss 

19th May 2021

September

September

Crept closer

and playful skies 

Had given way 

To thickening  August heat. 

The smell of gathered wheat

In golden fields of grain 

The harvest 

Dampened by the rain 

And children's cries 

With running feet 

Sowed muddy prints 

Along the plashing street

Then brightness would lift 

The billowing clouds 

As a dying sun 

Gazed her last 

From neath a velvet shroud 

A last walk

To taste the air

And all the ripening berries there

Down the dusky lane 

Midst dust and rain 

Scattering across the breezy lake

Where granite waves

Catch silver in their wake 

My heart would break

To see this season end 

So still I stand 

And clutch the receding strands 

Scents of early autumn blend 

As softly laughing,

Summer slips

Like a child from the ancient"s hand. 

Joe Morriss

25th August 2020

Upton

Rainbird

Lingering shadows still darken the windows 

As the waking world puts on its clothes

Drifting out of a dream

My expectant ear follows the seam

Of a string of notes stitched into the dawn

Like beads of dew on a fresh green lawn 

Echoes on the courtyard walls 

The residents yawn

Rising sound

And your song rings round

Now high , now low, pining

As it flies and falls. 

Perched out of sight 

You are seldom seen 

Before we hear your strain 

But we are compelled mid stirring plight 

To wait for the refrain 

The rain 

Early as the dawn broke

It came

And muted your cascading trills

As it hushed and rattled at  the pane

Every chip and chirrup filled 

The gutter and the gushing drain 

Like water you let your music spill

Until it joined the stream again. 

Then quiet ensues

The deluge past 

No more to us assail 

As day begins we hear the last 

Of rain and bird and sweet reveille. 

Joe Morriss

21st June 2020