Along the River Anslawell
by Jonathan Moore
Each day upon the shores is born,
A carnival like New Year’s morn,
There with glad joy and happiness,
There have I strolled and I confess,
Let the bright sights wash over me,
And clear the ambiguity
That clouds some days in frost and ice
If such a semblance can suffice.
The bees that greet the new sunrise,
Adorn the sky like butterflies,
With wings translucent as sapphire,
Bordered about with silver wire,
They flit from snapdragon to rose ,
Majestic in a short repose,
Before they stir and flutter wing,
And give new life to everything.
The air’s perfumed with joyousness,
Like a first love’s blissful caress
Each breath that fills the thawing chest,
That brings the bloom of life to breast,
Each careful wisp of careful breeze,
Will have its ardent devotees,
The day, it stretches hopefully,
As far as mind and eye can see.
Before my feet burnished pathways,
Bewilder and confound the haze,
That struggles, less than valiantly,
To dim this sparkling marquee,
This plan of treasure and delight,
Conspiring to reignite,
The spark of exhilaration,
That creates such fascination.
Morning quietly drifts away,
Like the last small boat from the quay,
Ere noon slips mutely overhead,
The sign posts glow with em’rald thread,
And re-arrange their soft advice,
Constructing missives that entice,
The pilfering of a first kiss,
As long as there’s nothing amiss.
And as the afternoon’s progress,
Overpowers subtle protests,
And fills the air with a display,
Of formidable sights that convey,
Such wonder to the heart and eye,
That stun the mind and thereby,
Fill the soul, ever pleasantly,
Enticing, tantalizingly.
Amid the heather and the trees,
Fly hummingbirds, if it will please,
Encrusted in rubies and gold,
Weaving sweet songs of uncontrolled,
Delight, praise, and adoration,
Bending wings in supplication,
Of the afternoon’s monarchy,
Like some passionate dynasty.
Dusk, She claims the last twilight,
And in between the morn and night,
Reflections of what’s gone before,
Betwixt the river and the shore,
And ere the stars mount overhead,
Crystal coloured visions are led,
Paraded for those attending,
The day’s repast, never ending.
Before my eyes dance fireflies
Like spun platinum in the guise
Of fractured incandescent dreams
Or star fire twisted to extremes,
They soar and dart along the shore,
Weaving tales you may not ignore,
Of tumultuous elation,
Or careless heartfelt flirtation.
Within the Night’s own firmament,
I watch the exultant ascent,
Of coals that glow and soothe the dark,
And light the paths and clearly mark,
The lover’s saunter through the Eve,
Through which they watch as they perceive,
The bee and bird and firefly,
And rad’ant stars within the sky.
Upon this board the story’s writ,
A grand design, I would permit,
Like a luminous melody,
Constructed from precious debris,
The Dark, she sings to every soul,
And yearns to calm and to console,
And to provide for each and all,
Exuberance perpetual.
And as dear Midnight strikes its chord,
And the river’s banks are restored,
To calm grass and whispering wind,
I am loathe for this day to end,
For though I know with the sunrise,
Glorious sights will greet my eyes,
I grasp at honeyed memories,
That have erased all dark unease.
Artist: Jonathan Moore
Genre: Poetry
Bio: I have always been a cantankerous old man, I have just finally reached an age where it is no longer a surprise to people. But cantankerous does not mean sad, or cruel, or bitter. I disagree with the norm and challenge the accepted and refuse to believe people should be treated poorly. I’ve raised my children and lost loved ones through death and divorce and the slow fades of time and distance.
Piece: Along the River Anslawell
Piece Description: This is a piece that takes place in Flatearth, a realm more at home with Dali than with Rembrandt.