SITTING HERE ON MY TERRACE in the ardent sunshine, I was going to write about the alchemical effect of music on the soul as strains of a Handel Concerto Grosso drifted through the living-room entrance. But as I began to type, I noticed a heart-stopping, long-awaited sight just a metre from where I was sitting: My little citrus Lime Tree had suddenly acquired a leaf-shoot bump, as I realised on closer inspection; followed later by more similar bumps all over it, along with a number of flower-buds bursting out with Read the rest of this entry »
When boundless love cannot be full expressed
through hands and words and gestures of the heart —
when skin and soul aren’t there to be caressed —
a vacuum grows, and life is lived apart.
To question why one should be in this state,
enrobed in flesh and orphaned without source,
will yield some startling answers arrowed straight
between your eyes to hit you with full force.
Exploding loveness then goes absolute
in longingful magnetic mindly ways.
For skin is always just a substitute —
a second-best and strictly 3-D craze.
Such yearning fosters grief and loss in some.
But on my knees to God with tears I come.
© Alan Morrison, 2018