A Poem To Sing To Passing Owls

This is the soul of the moment

The air is pleasantly vacant of thought

The music swells beyond meaning

The field a dream fluttering

Around our sleeping heads

This trance flower and sensitive frail longing

Thought ushering rainclouds of the deepest rocks

The cliffs are jagged and sharp and flee from nobody

This catastrophic shift flails in the wind

Flying it's own grace

To the best part of its ramparts

Our owls are aloft and

Mindlessness of the trees ends all hearts

All memory of these magic nights

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Sandy Cowan's picture

Another good title - how could you not look at this one.

For me the images in this poem seem to materialise out of the mist - becomeing clearer towards the end.


Deborah E Russell's picture

good imagery... liked reference to rainclouds/rock