Everyday Poetry

I recently came across the term Komorebi, which is the Japanese word for sunlight  which is filtered through the leaves of the trees.  I love it when there are words in other languages for things that produce an emotional response in me,  but which have no English equivalent.  This article has some more wonderful new words if you're interested https://ihworld.com/news-blog/ih-blog/10-words-that-don-t-exist-in-english/   I feel some more poems coming on!  Komorebi There are some whose hearts are lifted By the sight of golden rays piercing  Through gaps between the patchy clouds,  Strong shafts pointing to the earth below Like a glorious benison from the heavens.  There are those whose souls reverberate  To the soft green glow o f sunlight gently f iltering Through staggered gaps b etween fluttering leaves As it haltingly descends through overlapping branches Like a secret whisper to the woodland floor. © Copyright 2024. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

Phil and I both enjoy capturing special moments,  he on his camera, me in words.  Yesterday evening was one of those times. Seekers We sit, both trying to capture the magic Of red kites hunting, as the bright red tractor Cuts its way through long grass, Up and down the steep valley sides; You seeking the perfect shot Of sunlit wings against a powder blue sky, Adjusting ISO, aperture, shutter speed, As I seek the perfect adjective,  The sequence of words that will conjure The swoop and dip, the sudden soar, The banking to left and right, chasing thermals, As the kites seek the small creatures, left exposed By the tractor's cruel blades. ©  Copyright 2024. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

That moment  When they give you the good news, And relief hits you hard in the chest, And hope teeters towards possibility, And the weight of the burden of worry You've been carrying around Without really realising Suddenly becomes apparent In the lightness of your step And a smile as wide as the future.  ©  Copyright 2024. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved

This morning I read Henry Normal's poem Storm Gathering, a brilliant sequence of observations which paint a vivid picture of a particular day.  It inspired me to look outside, to try to capture the essence of this unique and rather winsome morning.  The hush of a morning, huddled under low clouds, the sudden change striking after days of dry heat.  The fine opacity of encroaching mist; muffled voices calling out greetings The sporadic drone of a chainsaw trimming trees. The blush of distant woodland darkening into bronze under its cap of cloud.   Tiny domed raindrops clustered on the back of fallen leaves, cloaking the garden in nature's bubble wrap.  Pigeons huddling damply, waiting out the rain while wiser birds stay sheltered. Cattle lying down, stoic beneath the gusty drizzle. The rhythmic swish of car tyres, speeding down the slickened hill.  The comfort of a cushioned armchair, the dry side of the window. The mug of coffee steaming;  the temptation of a closed book within