The View from Here...

Seemed to be more stars in the sky...
when knee high to a space-hopper...
‘Sequins sewn on a black, velvet cloth’,
or so I would romanticize in poetry.
Since then, I’ve journeyed far; never
discovered them again, nor that surreal,
dizzy feeling, bade me reach out –
palms tingling; cup them in my hands,
like a zillion slivers of glass.

How I miss those stars... ones
that have died, and I wonder
if they hold funerals for stars,
after that final firework display
of a Supa Nova. Many ways
of praying; I kneel down – hug
the body of an old, Scots pine
as starshine sifts through blue-green
branches, fretting the heavens...

Remembering all those yarns,
my father spun; about The Hunter,
Orion – his jewelled belt, and Sirius,
his hound...Of the ‘Great Bear’,
with its heartbeat, soft and slow,
sleeping not so far away beneath
the ridge from where the fire-
frenzied sun will rise, I realise
these stars, too, might be reborn.

Almost dawn...no time to spare
as I travel back to that place
they call ‘childhood’, where one
samples the delights of seeing
things as they are...No clouds
of doubt, or swirling mists
of preconceived ideas – no fog
of dogged disbelief, no ‘light
pollution’ here, to mar the view...
tonight, I let the stars, speak
for themselves.