504 episodes
Tales from the edge of the morning sky Paul Morris
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- Society & Culture
A selection of stories and tales, mainly about the natural world, our place in it, as well as stories about everyday people who change their lives and others by being different or perhaps by being too much the same
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Walking May
Walking MayWalking the flower garden, this opening of spring, listening to birdsong,the wind and treesthat sing, for the sky is so blue a blessingthis May,for June is approaching and summerwill be hereFor ever and more.For Today.Feel free to contact me. Be nice to know who my audience is and perhaps you can suggest some further topics or themes for my writing! And do give me feedback!p1964km@googlemail.com
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A one-take Spring Monologe
Spring in the Garden of May.Feel free to contact me. Be nice to know who my audience is and perhaps you can suggest some further topics or themes for my writing! And do give me feedback!p1964km@googlemail.com
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Even if…
Even if I…Even if the sun,I feel were blind, I would like to hold your face in the quiet of my hands, and trace just once,my fingers uponthe tributaries and streams, of the life that has becomethe beautiful you, to feel a thousand stories,journeys and emotions,joining a stream,a flow,of stars,to a riverof journeys, that I cherishin wonderthat I feel,in the musicof livingand life,that isborn in ...
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Spring (March)
For ifthere is,truly,a Spring in winter let me drink then,deeply of your beautiful eyes to see the dawn of morning blue,for laughter is the sunlightof Marchthat rises,beautifully in the blossomof lifethat issimply beingand walking,the pathwith you.Feel free to contact me. Be nice to know who my audience is and perhaps you can suggest some further topics or themes for my writing! And do give me feedback!p1964km@googlemail.com
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She(3) ‘They’
TheyHe pulled. Felt her hand in his. Remembering her taste. Her smell. The way her body cleaved into his. His into hers.Mustiness. Earth. Wonder. Urgency.The earth crumbled around him. It matted his arms, legs and lower back. His hair. His beard. He sat up. Felt the dull ache, the throb of life to be given fill his awakening being with her. To her.She could see him now. Lifting himself out of sleep. His own dream wrapped around him. She released his hand, re...
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A February Afternoon
February AfternoonThe sun setslong shadows,cast the distance upon the broken garden wallBut amongst the cracks,the silence,beneath the settlingdusk of late afternoon A blackbirdsings, his voicecatching my tears one by oneas softly, gently the rain beginsto fall.Feel free to contact me. Be nice to know who my audience is and perhaps you can suggest some further topics or themes for my writing! And do give me feedback!p1964km@googlemail.com