The Haze


For days it hung around us

ominous, dark and dreary

hiding the sun

not quite the moon.

Cloaking everything

in a dull, yellow fog.

Birds stopped chirping,

the playgrounds lay empty

the world metamorphed

into a strange Dystopian entity.

Is this a sign of things yet to come?

Or a precursor of the future

already arrived for some?

A future turned dark and dreary

by the ignorance, the blindness,

the sheer callousness of those

who see before them

only the God named money?


The Curious Breeze

There is a gentle breeze
wafting through my window,
softly caressing the sheer,
pale as snow curtains

It whispers softly, urgently
to the pile of brightly hued
many-colored cushions, on the
bare, dark, wooden floor

Fluttering over the bedsheets
it ruffles their pristine calm,
and mischievously rustles the pages
of the books lying all askew

It hovers briefly, over the
little plant hiding in a dark corner,
and wonders, not very deeply,
at its quiet, listless air

Inquisitive, curious, like a child
it flits about my room
touching, feeling,
exploring every cranny

Until, all at once, its gaze lands
upon the green clad vista,
out beyond, and it goes racing,
to flirt with the trees again.

A date with Bocelli


The lights dim,
the spotlight rests
on the man in black
He swings his baton
and the choir bursts
into its opening song
A prelude piece
to set the stage for
the tenor to come.

And then we get
that first glimpse
as he walks in
The crowd roars
anticipation heightening
breathing suspended
A collective hush
descends upon
his fans.

The orchestra plays
the opening lines
and that magical voice
starts to sing.
Song after song
enthrall the audience
All held spellbound
by those faultless
soaring notes.

And I sit there
heart racing
goosebumps rising
shivers running
down my spine
enchanted, captivated,
strangely elated,
feeling touched
by the divine.

My mind
searches restlessly,
for words to describe
the sheer joy of listening
to that incredible voice.
Words such as
soaring, sublime,
magical, divine
they all fall short.

But as the music rises
to it’s final crescendo
I thank the stars above
for letting me share
these moments
with one of their own
walking down below
this tenor, this musician
this magician of song.

After the rain


Clouds scud
through the blue-grey skies
making haste slowly
towards a new destination.

Mist rises over
the distant mountains
borne upon a
gentle breeze.

The very last
straggling raindrops
fall to the earth
in a desultory fashion.

Steam rises from
the damp earth
warmed by the rays
of the just revealed sun.

Drops of water
lie shakily suspended
on fresh washed
green leaves

Butterflies emerge
from their hiding place
ready to take flight
amidst the flowers again.

And a faded rainbow
stretches across the sky
nature’s benediction
for this fresh new world.



Raindrops streak
across the
glass panes
like tiny
in the
They lie there
the cold glass,
to be
by the
to join
and sisters
on their
to the

In the rain


When I was a child
I loved to play
in the summer rain
running, jumping
splashing, singing
I would play
imaginary games
with hordes of
make believe friends
and sometimes
with real ones.

As I grew older
just out of my teens
I no longer played,
but I still loved
walking in the rain
sometimes alone
sometimes with a
special someone
those memories
still make me
incandescently happy.

And now I’m
somewhere in between
being a lot older but
not quite old enough
I don’t dance or play
in the rain anymore
or even walk hand in hand
with that special someone.
But the rain remains
special to me.

Now I sit at the window
side by side with
that special someone
snuggling under
a single blanket
books in hand
a cup of tea for me
a happy smile for him
and the magic
that is in the rain


Early morning sunshine
glints off the top
of the white building
across from me.

It’s shadow draws
quirky patterns
over the grove of
dark green trees below.

Their gnarled branches
shelter hundreds
of birds chirping
to welcome a new day.

Dappled leaves
sway hypnotically
in the gentle
morning breeze.

Sounds of traffic
begin to overlay
the trill and treble
of the birdsong

The world is waking
and so must I,
but before my day starts
I pause for just a moment.

Standing before
my window
I drink in these
sights and sounds.

My very own
daily renewal,
the promise filled start
of a brand new day.