Still half asleep,
I turn the key
And venture out
Into the frost.
The moon rides low
Across the sky
And overhead
The plough still hangs.
Orion’s dog
His master leads,
The hunter’s pouch
Brimful of stars.
Still wrapped in night
And sleepy eyed,
Reluctantly
I start my day.
January 1992 (Poetic licence! Orion and Canis Major are not visible at the same time in January when we are getting up – they have both set by then.)
They have now gone from us,
Those all-protecting ones,
The angels by the bed,
The guardians at the gate.
This is Life’s promotion!
Step by reluctant step
We move forward daily
To take their place.
At the close of a summer’s day,
Far, far down the beach
At the ebb-tide’s turning,
To sand, sea and wind
We committed them,
Ashes to ashes,
Human dust to dust,
Memories to sand.
When I consider the genetic maze
Which brings me to the rising of this day
And count, as stars across the winter sky,
The obstacles to Life along the way,
Then do I worship at the shrine of Chance
And flowers of ardour on her altar lay.
Let me not cease my grateful praise to sing
And, by my living, Life’s oblation pay.
18th January 2001
I have a homing instinct for the stars 
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