symphony

flecks of pure morning light
accent her coral-red cloud feathers;

when she unfurls her wings,
embracing the leisurely warmth
of a new sky, golden
wingtips touch skylines
at sunrise and sunset.

shimmering like mist
they span horizons;
anxious winds breathe
with every rise and fall;
fledgling storms wake quiet
in spaces between bright feathers
in soft silver pools of shadow.

sprightly lightning she adorns
like ornaments of laughter,
diamond rain, she sprinkles
on this burning land,
she decorates nighttime
in a gown of mauve dreamlight,
she bears on her forehead
in a starry circlet
a new and ancient moon.

T. E. Pyrus

cityscape

the great cloud-whale
wanders idly through the blue mid-winter sky
gazing at the silent city.

fading yellow school buses
cut through restless streets
and grumbling traffic lights,
plucking out fine stitches
of this vehicle embroidered city,
one by one,
like a countdown.

a curious kitten peeks quietly from behind
the tall sack of fresh green lemons, uncannily perfect,
at clamouring people: unpractised smiles,
meaningless sweet-flowing words,
clicking their tongues in the ever-flowing rhythm of
‘sweet oranges! two for ten!’ echoing faintly
over a hundred, four hundred distant voices,
and the hovering cold tinkling of polished new coins;
a sunburnt breeze breathes deeply
with the flaking, blue tarpaulin roof,
unnoticed, like innocence, painting the marketplace
in light sunlit dust.

golden-winged kites circle high in slow motion
above asphalt roads- burning, melting
into hushed murmurs of late afternoons.
paint crumbles off cemented walls
into stray winds in surrender
to oversized names and brand new
windless elevators; grey pigeons
now ventilate a dozen flights of lonely stairs;
rusted railings chuckle and sigh
when grandmotherly grumbles
about “this generation” and “back in my days”
echo down the corridors,
a sweet breeze of homely spices
and faint clinking from the curtained kitchen
spill over the oil-stained window sill.

cracks that spread like veins
along tall ancient fortress walls
that watch over their timeless city,
smoulder like charcoal in the sunset;
they cradle their dear cloud whale
and the winking evening star
each time they fall apart over the city.

the golden moon
floats into the starry mid-winter sky
gazing at the silent city…

T. E. Pyrus

When…

darkness dissolves into sunsets,
stars fall through midnight like rain,
flickering streetlamps sleep soundly,
seconds count minutes in vain,

the wind forest’s net catches moonlight,
the sunrise soaks into the land,
oceans are mountains of dewdrops,
mountains are soft breaking sand,

clear winds break clouds into laughter,
the blushing gold autumn is shy,
all of these moons burn like snowstorms,
the wanderer, quiet, tiptoes by.

T. E. Pyrus

like a painting in the sky…

Sometimes I watch the nighttime chase
the painted sun across the sky,
and rest upon the purple trail
of sprightly moons that flurried by,

while sunset birds carve glowing sounds
of windy calm on coral clouds,
and stars of dusk bring violet, coarse,
to softly blend into dark.

constellations wake the sky
and stir still wind and mist and trees
with precious dreams of morning light
and lilting song and laughing breeze.

T. E. Pyrus

Traveller,

Tell me a story, traveller,

of unwalked roads you walked alone
beneath the blue and sunlit sky,
paved with earth or cobblestone
and straying clouds that wander by.

of strange lands and stranger folks
and strange songs they sang with you,
in strange tongues they call their home,
that, in your dreams, was somewhere new.

of temporary loves you loved,
then set your broken lovers free,
and healed your broken, heartless soul
beneath the starry sky and sea.

of darkened woods and foreign sound
that haunt the night-time every night.
of moons that follow footsteps quiet
and stars that watch in silent light.

of stormy nights and thunderclouds
that failed to bring your childish fears,
and drowning rain that drowned the winds
and brought you melancholic tears.

of snowy golden sunsets high
on mountain sides, ragged and old
and tears of wonder, tears of joy,
love of stories left untold.

of rivers running swiftly by
your resting sleep ere break of day.
of twilights that blanket the sky
and sweep the orange clouds away.

of lost lanterns and memories
and aimless wandering in the night.
of faraway towns of scattered starry
homes so warm and hearts so bright.

of lone camp-fires’ dancing songs
and lonely faded quiet applause.
of longing and of selfish pain,
of losing love and loving loss.

Tell me a story, traveller,
of reminiscing in grateful shade,
and of your final travel home
before your loving memories fade.

T. E. Pyrus