etchings

A plume of blue smoke rises far from the village - summer's funeral. (Marcus Cumberlege)

Our life, so brief, is perhaps no more than the manifested dream of beings who dwell in other worlds. Thus it may be that when I drift into sleep, pressing between my fingers the smiling lotus of your face, one of those heavenly flowers opens its petals into the sunlight of that world to which in reality we belong. (Marcus Cumberlege)

Let happiness come to you, As a wave reaches the shore. No more furious knocking, At a senseless bolted door. Let the past slip from your back, Like a loser's worn-out shirt, Nothing is gained by scratching, Like a chicken in the dirt. Today is the tomorrow, That worried you yesterday. It's all you have. Embrace it. It will never go away. (Marcus Cumberlege)

I that was stone and sand, Changed in to a pearl. I roll into your hand, You blossom into my shell. We were thrown before the swine, They ran into the sea. We drink salt in our wine, Out of charity. (Marcus Cumberlege)

My favourite colour is brown. The bar I am leaning on, To scribble these silly words, Is the shade of my love's eyes. (Marcus Cumberlege)

Beneath Consciousness

Gently I lift a stone from the depths of the pool, turn it over in my hands, and see where the weeds have rubbed into it their crimson, green & purple dyes. Gently you are bringing out the colours of my heart. (Marcus Cumberlege)

The Power of Light: sunshine, Bouncing off the garden wall. The Power of Life: the leaves, Fidgeting in the warm breeze. (Marcus Cumberlege)

The bridge across dark water, that seagull's avenging cry. I wonder if there is room, for one more star in the sky. (Marcus Cumberlege)

While we talked and talked, I saw them through the window, the listening trees. (Marcus Cumberlege)

With scanty brush-strokes, the early evening light paints the horizon. (Marcus Cumberlege)