in notes

 

the sun had fallen 

from the window, 

in shards of glass, 

and I felt the heaviness 

of the long hot day slip 

from my shoulders 

like a flannel dressing gown

and the evening brightened,

 

now, not by blasts of sun pounding down -  

but sprinkled in airy flits of light amongst 

the lengthening shadows

peaceful-like

 

in tinkles of soft music  

that played, unobtrusively,

and reminded me  

of my old backyard, 

for some reason,

on a summer’s night,  

after the children were put to bed, 

and I would sit with him

on the deck stairs,  

in notes of contentment.

Photos:  top:  Stain Glass Window of Sun on the Pacific Ocean, Marine Building, Vancouver - W. Bourke

bottom:  In Notes – W. Bourke 

© 2013 Wendy Bourke

The Tranquil Place

The tranquil place 

had caught my eye, 

one day, as I rambled by, 

and I resolved to come again 

to bask in the murmurs of the quiet brook 

and breath deep in contemplation, and perhaps, 

read whispered passages 

midst glints of sunshine sparkles – in green – 

and breezes on my favorite book.

But the path, as it turned out,  

was hard rock steep 

and wildly treacherous to cross 

and the trek to Shangri-La 

more akin to the Ancient Mariner’s – 

without the albatross –

and not, the in-harmony-with-nature traipse,  

that I had pictured, getting there: 

all the more impeded 

by the book I lugged – 

to say nothing of the chair.

But, at last, I crossed  

the Great Divide 

and came to that perfect place

where . . .  

I contemplated – like mad – 

a way . . . of getting out of there. 

“It is in vain to say human beings ought to be satisfied with tranquility: they must have action; and they will make it if they cannot find it.”   Jane Eyre (Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë).

photos:  Tranquil Place – W. Bourke

© 2013 Wendy Bourke