Mark Scrivener

Poetry Poems Original Verse

Tuesday, April 28, 2015



September, 2010 Georgica NSW

September dusk drifts over fields,
green valleys, forests and long hills
and lays, like mist, upon the scene
a dreaming tenebrosity.

The sheen that was slips back to last
west-fading blue of skyward sight
and coolness and the call of dark
speak with the syllables of night.

Though land is losing all of light,
upon the southwest, paling sky
new crescent rides as lunar smile
with Venus high: white-gleaming eye.

While from fast darkening, near this,
as stars both Mars and Saturn shine-
all jewels lit with radiance
reflected from a vanished sun.

From world beneath, still shadowing,
wild drumming of cicadas crowds
the air to drown my ears with sound-
last chorus veiled from hunting wings.

In vagueness, from my seeing’s verge,
a sudden flash sparks, low then high,
around dark trees and weeds and bushes,
long grass and dim-white crofton flowers…

and there another, and there- and there-
all through the gloom of cooling air,
I see the drifting stars go by-
the green-gold gleam of fireflies.

Like shifting constellations through
the ever-growing dark they pass-
light signs to breed in spring’s increase
that rising life may never cease.

So weary from my winter time
I view enchanting shimmering
and feel again this magic rhyme
that sings to me from stars of spring.



As life awakens,
With opening of its many-beinged eyes,
From glowing edges of thousands of skies
Many million-seen suns arise
And, through the dawning visions of the earth,

One light
Flames forth day's birth.

Sunday, April 26, 2015



Seeing is a touching.
To look towards blue, to glance
with eyes' intelligence
along a sun-etched cloud
is to fly
where light birds wander,
freed upon unbounded sky.

Vision is a travelling. To gaze
towards growing dusk, roving
to the rim of sight,
where earth shape meets sky space,
is to glide
across the curved earthface,
journeying with the fall of darkness.

Perception is connection. To see our star,
reddened and descending
behind the silhouettes of trees
that shiver with the day's last breeze,
is to ride
a fragment of the spiral of all time,
companioned by this wandering world;
is to see
Earth following its sun
through illimitable
regions of reality.

Saturday, April 25, 2015



Drizzle from this winter sky
Mutes the greens and browns of pastures.
Clouds conceal far mountain tops.
Mist slides down the sides of hills.
Far the filtered light of day
Brushes sight with textures like
Scrolls of ancient, ink-washed silk.

I'm reminded of Wang Wei
Longing for some further, finer
Life and living, seeing some
Image of its image in
Distant kingdoms of white cloud-
Writing poems like painting silk,

Brushing silk like poetry.



Now Scorpio is slowly slithering down
the western vastness.
And Alpha Centauri sparkles, winking through
the skyline leaves.

Above my head
the moon is one half bright.

Fields and hills
seem to shimmer, insubstantial,
pale in its pale light.

The eucalypts are dark against
the lunar sky.

There are no streetlights here
and now no sounds of man,
but crickets and small frogs
hold concert round the dam.

There is no distant drone of cars.

And suddenly I hear
a wood duck's wings.
Feet first it breaks the water
and sends out rings.

And ripples stars.  

Monday, April 20, 2015



I turn the white tube of the telescope
upon that brightest, white, white star 
and see far in the far
a blaze of light, its brilliance finer
than any jewel or precious stone
that shines by stolen glow alone.

Bright Sothis, Sirius, you are
all the sky’s most splendid star.

The old sky-lining of
Hellenic legend drew you as
the dog star, the hound’s eye of
the greater, faithful creature following
Orion, the hunter through
 the turning of the night.

And in ancient Egypt's lore
you were seen as sacred star,
one whose rising in the palest wash
of the hushed, dawn-hinting sky
beckoned coming flooding of the Nile.

You are still to sight
greatest star in all the night,
brightest far sun in the darkness.

Our cultures, civilisations, go and come,
yet you shine on, oh, distant sun,
across the paths of harbouring vastness,
across time's endless transformations.

I gaze in awe and dimly feel
affinity to being, boundless and
beyond these thoughts.

Saturday, April 18, 2015

Yellow Moon


 Half-lidded eye of slumber,
Far-spying on the dream,
Late, silence-rising world,
The yellow-rising moon
Now silhouettes a single,
Broad, distant skyline tree.

 From misty, midnight east,
It ventures on the vastness,
Where stars in hazy number
Are summer-patterned on the sky.

 What beauty's stolen by the eye:
What artistry of wide creation
Our casual vision takes for free.

 What brush could brave
This scene's perfection?
This subtle luminosity?

 Mysterious and deep is sleep...
But ah! What miracle it is

To see.