Draped in silk

In this precious hour
It is as if I’m draped in silk
Luxurious, awake to morning
Yet still cocooned
In dove-cote doors of slumber

The world still sleeps
Yet I bathe in this
Delicious silence
Where just the scratch of pen
Alludes to magic as words appear


Photo – Jempics

The Small Hours II

Here in this silence
With the quiet patter of gentle rain
the small hours while
and my pen scratches

Slumber beckons but temporarily eludes
So I with quiet resolve
capture the mood with words
flowing as the night deepens



Big Ben’s bell is silent

Big Ben’s bell is silent
no chimes upon the hour
And all wrapped up in scaffolding
right around the tower

It needs a lot of TLC
to bring it back to scratch
but is missed by all commuters
who have a train to catch

For Big Ben’s peel, familiar
gave them the time of day
and helped them keep to schedule
as they went upon their way

But now they’ll need to wait four years
’til Big Ben chimes again
Except for extra special times
which happen now and then


Big Ben is actually the nickname for the Great Bell of the clock in the tower at the north end of the Palace of Westminster in London. The tower is now officially the Elizabeth Tower, renamed to celebrate the Diamond Jubilee of Elizabeth II in 2012; previously it was known simply as the Clock Tower. In August 2017 a four-year period of renovation of the tower and the clock began, and the bells were silenced. They’ll still peel on special occasions like New Year though. 


The Poet’s echo

There was a moment
part of nighttime and silence
in the small hours when
a whisper sounded like a shout
that thought found substance
and words laid to paper
became the poet’s echo


The small hours – haiku

Candle’s flame burns bright
melting away the small hours
Silence befriends me


6 of 7 in the Jemverse ‘Three Lines’ event; 7 haikus for 7 days

Silence serene

In the pale light of dawn
I found it today
As last night from the sunset
it decided to stay
Its presence profound
as it has always been
It is of course silence
Calm, collected, serene



Silence sang a song
with no words I could hear
Someone said there was an echo
although not anywhere near
It was somewhere out there
across the water at night
quiet and mysterious
and out of my sight

Silence sang a song
but the melody was lost
it might have once been there
but now gone to my cost
For I could no longer hear it
with that sweetest refrain
and though the silence is golden
I’d love to feel it again


May Day

Sun rises golden, gleaming
Over Sussex field
Heralding the first of May
Its glory is revealed
Silence reigns, the world awakes
Slumber fades and here
Through the green of leafy bough
The sunshine brings us cheer

There’s frosting on the dew-clad grass
But rising now as mist
There is no greater wonder
than the spectacle of this
A kaleidoscope of colour
Arrives with breaking dawn
A privilege to witness
On this early summer morn



Sometimes I shout at the sea
Not from anger but by way of an echo
To the volume of its majesty
For, as foam topped white horses leap and crash
And the noise of shingle-drag pounds the path of a dangerous shore
A shout is the most appropriate.



Sometimes I whisper at the sea
Not from timidity but also by way of an echo
To the beauty of its serenity
For, as a golden sun-cast glistens on a flat calm
And the silence of lapping gently caresses the path of an ebbing tide
A whisper is my best and all.

©Jemverse (18 May 2014)

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