Mark Scrivener

Poetry Poems Original Verse

Tuesday, October 25, 2016



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.



This winter sky's half-gray with cloud-
The midday air still cool. Small rain
Lies scattered on the leaves of grasses
And magpies stalk through damp, green fields.

A crow calls into air-wide spaces
And distant is the slow reply
And cows graze on a far-off hill
And seem to seeing ant-like small.

Now drizzle rides upon light wind
And washes detail from the tree-dense skyline
And brings to sight a winter vision-
Where things far-off are misty-dim.

We watch and time is passing still:
A pathway to a cloud-bound view,
Where detail vanishes in mist

And all we sense... we hope is true.