Voluminously graceful,
She whale with calf
Swimming their intent
Almost uniformly
As tails lift and dip, lift and dip,
Teasing the midday-sun’s be speckled watery rays,
Ritually, embrace the ocean blues

©J. E. Kirk 2009′

Hay Season.

Slipping,
Oozing,
Sliding down,
Along,
Beside,
Behind,
Before,
Me.
All around
And
Spilling over
Wondrous mounds time has born.
Gleam patches light,
Framed by deeper, richer hue,
The eye can see,
Summers gift a patchwork image,
In faded yellows framed by greens.

©J. E. C. Kirk 2009′

“The Poet”

I’m the sojourn, leaving the material,
Parting mystic veils shrouding other worlds,
Watching my soul smile the peace I am feeling,
As symbols invite me to birth them as words.

Stars may look pointed the minute I think them,
Then fluff up like Dandelions to suit my desire,
To settle within pastures and tickle the nosey,
Whose lick ripping tongues dribble green oozy slime?

Or, flowers may blossom pink quickly, change swiftly,
To blue, to yellow, could be purple, red or green,
And in a moments desirous lighthearted thinking,
The muse is the tempted and the tempted the muse.

Who shape shifts, as ink drops danced through my fingers,
Those trusty, reliable, wonderful jewels,
Whilst within my being, I am magically drifting,
Sailing, ever so lightly within poetical worlds.

© J. E. Kirk 2009’