Season’s Warmth

At the end of the road there is a cabin;
banked with snow, blanketed by trees,
skies of glowing colour rise with dream.

Warm contrast of light opens my heart,
storms no longer burn as arms embrace;
winter of Promise brings such pleasure.

Soft is now when all shall sing silence,
passionate outbursts of our past become:
nightfall whispers trembling with wisps.

Jim Larwill

Moon Water

Rivers flow; yet, memory freezes on the surface.
Dark threads drown hope. Sadness prints silence.
Words of love this distorted rhythm in reflection.

Fire in distant sky, drums my heart beat dreams;
broken night falls upon cerulean still water when
skeletal prayers reach up as brittle moon fingers.

Revelations we think we find; can hold, can live,
can carve into a fertile landscape, soon dissolves
down into a barren fallow field waiting for winter.

Blessed geography of defeat, forever in resistance,
hold my meaningless moment here: majesties of
recreational estates, kneel before a scrubland truth.

Jim Larwill

Back Road to Dignity

Artists walk this back road way to dignity,
twisted with sorrow we carve broken truths,
muted grey landscapes of forgotten beauty.

A road travels on, and so it swallows us into
collective memory lanes, foreground horizon
drinking history’s blood – generations spent.

Each day, a tree split by growth not our own,
where winter burns self-worth, with eloquent
whispers, and wisps, in the brushwood scrub.

Jim Larwill

Divinity Sky

Oh Ye abandoned Landscapes of forest Revivals
let Apocalyptic clouds baptise new religious Life,
what built this decaying Church now grows again!

Hear axes of Light. Thunder rebirth to a People’s
simple song of nature, backwoods bounty found
once more, when wilderness returns Eden home.

From one world woven with another, spirit symbols
touch in a timeless sky, singing transcendent hymns
bountiful with blessings - our communal earth’s eye.

Jim Larwill

The Old Place

Crouched in a hidden spring rush
shadows echo under a footbridge
water ripples with a child’s grief.

Above a buckled barn roof betrays
time grinding hopes down to stone;
chiselled heart-land a barren dream.

Husbandry stench lingers long after
gates collapse, blues of past framed
by bright bubbles and billowing sky.

Jim Larwill