When You Come to the End of a Perfect Day.

 

When You Come To the End of a Perfect Day

 

The green beneath my feet

glows warm in the afterglow of a perfect day

while sleepy wasps and bees

buzz – but softly – softly,

reluctant yet from sugared flowers to fly away;

arboured honey is suckled,

buddleia has yielded up its golden hoard

delighting hover-fly

butterfly,  as even I

move my mind toward rest, this perfect eve’.

 

A gentle, song of the night

A nocturne – drifts from somewhere

Perhaps it lives inside my head - (they do, you know)

A night-bird sits above, ‘Night Music’ to share,

gentler even than its own sweet song.

All is at peace – peace rare in human throng,

yet welcome as I sit – and sip a sweetling brew,

weathered, heathered where other bees have supped and sipped

On moorland hill and island stream, which purled

And grew – and drew;

sweet water of the north, whose peat-imparted flavours now endue

my glass with cheer, then lull me

Into the stillness of the night,

wakening me – late - with cooling, soft-descending dew.

                                      John L. Berry, 19 August 2009.

Author's Note

First Draft

Reviews

[emmajoy]

This writing could be nothing more that perfect for me, John!

'.. buddleia has yielded up its golden hoard delighting hover-flybutterfly, as even Imove my mind toward rest, this perfect eve'. ~ Purring with pleasure over those words...

It's beautiful.. it's how life should be with all its sounds and sights, its peace and gentle relaxation. As to the bonnie peat-embodied water - nigh heaven for you no doubt..

'.. then lull me Into the stillness of the night, wakening me � late - with cooling, soft-descending dew.' What lovely words: they make me sighhhh with pleasure and wish life could be like that always and always.

Rushing its way into Favourites. Thank you.

[Theresa C Newbill]

What a gorgeous write! It touched on all the senses! Well done:)

[Mary]

beautiful, it makes me envious I've never had a real grasp on how this kind of poetry is created. To be able to pull words out of yourself like that and create something thats beauty for beautys sake is out of mymy grasp

[RHEA CROSLEY]

Very enjoyable. It reminds me of beautiful star lit nigts out in the country. I will have to put this one in my favorites. Great write my friend.

[April Child]

Stunning. I am lulled by your words. Your word choice and the weave of them are perfectly in tune creating a blanket of peace to nestle beneath. Now where's my cup of sweetling brew? I'm not sure what it is but I want one!

[Emily B]

the living room is getting dark as I sit here reading . . . and I think about what a beautiful and perfect day it has been . . . and wonder how much lovelier tomorrow will be

I can't imagine that this is still draft form, it's so perfect and lovely to read

[Jennifer Marie Theresa ..]

This poem is completely remarkable. It takes you away to such a beautiful and tranquil place. I can close my eyes and just imagine it..and thats true poetry =]

[Patient Poet (Yos)]

My dear friend , thats so beautiful description how one should end his day, resting in his / her Garden and listening to the sounds of nature, smell the scene of the evening , and bless God for the time and pation for the beauty he created
Shalom Yossi

[raining]

Very good. I cannot add more yet. I could learn from you as (being 56) I am just coming out of middle age into the true period wherein I must go to a river and pick up smooth rocks and such and sit marvelling at such things as nature leaves us to ponder.

I could appreciate such poetry as yrs as being wedded from voice to strong honest metaphor. Your well read in modern poetry and must own the English "Norton Anthology" I presume. thanks for such a good poem as this. I shall reread it.

[LJW]

First draft you say? With perhaps one adjustment in the meter (that I noticed), I'd say this is pretty near perfect.

The joys of retirement and nature smile all the way through this beautifully written poem.

[EILEEN McGUINNESS]

Pure class this poem is outstanding in the way that one would associate with poets who have long gone, for me to describe the feelings it fills me up with would in their essence be the pleasure that indeed be tasting the nectar on my tongue whilst the still wind blows by the side of a mill pond be upon me as i taste the first delights of nightfall