COUNTRY BOY.
I LOVE TO BE WHERE THE WILD GOOSE FLIES ACROSS LONELY SKIES. MORNING MIST AND THE SPARKLING DEW IN FIELDS WHERE A SIMPLE FEW FEEL THE POWER OF THE AWAKENING SUN. THE COCK CROWS AS THE DAY COMES ALIVE TO THE ORCHESTRA OF NATURE. IN FAR GREEN PASTURES, PHEASANTS PREEN LIKE BEAUTY QUEENS, UNAWARE OF THE WILY OLD FOX AS IT ENGAGES IN THE DANCE OF DEATH, AND POUNCES ON AN UNSUSPECTING VOLE, WHOSE CONCEALMENT IN THE LONG GRASS CANNOT SAVE IT.....FAR FROM THE PULSE OF CITY MAN, I FLOW WITH THE WIND AND THE TIDE INTOXICATED BY FREEDOM. THIS IS MY HOUR, MY DAY AT HOME IN THE HEART OF NATURE, WHERE THE BUTTERFLY CARESSES THE AIR WITH ETHEREAL EMERALD WINGS, WHERE THE SKYLARK SINGS ONE MORE SWEET NOTE TO ALL THAT IS GOOD AND BEAUTIFUL IN THE CRADLE OF LIFE.
JIM EMERTON
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WILDERNESS
Ice crystals cling to my face. The foaming tide, fluffed with salt, creeps around my feet. Seals calling from lonely sandbanks of the North Sea washes. An eerie, plaintive curlew cry, the sound resonating with each tingling sensation. At one with ancient and eternal elements. The snowflakes, driven by Arctic wind, burn my face with a sweet embrace. Alone in my uniqueness, tasting the joy of nature?s freedom, urged on by primal instincts, into heady and sublime euphoria. The purity of spirit united at last.
Jim Emerton.
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THE FIGHTING COCK
Purest spirit in dominant eye, the banty cock soon would die. Never have I seen the like, a noble savage in avian form.
On this earth to rule the roost and soon to give my ego boost. Never have I seen such fire, the wonder of his mighty eye.
Jim Emerton
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THE OPIUM POPPY.
Summer bees are drawn as magnets to the gentle nectar of her soft purple flowers, as she hides the dark secret of life and death. I have smoked the pipe of dreams, and basked in sweet euphoria. The humble flower that rests in the summer field evolves into a capsule, that is both the key to transcendence, and spiritual oneness. The ultimate price you may pay is that she will consume your soul and eat away at the bodily form. One or two encounters with the Queen of Flowers will awaken you to her deathly majesty.
Jim Emerton.
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DANCE OF THE BUTTERFLIES.
Cascading, colliding, freewheeling, as the warm wind buoys their little spirits in a gentle breeze, above the purple haze of buddleia nectar. They sway and dance in airy iridescence. Only the bird of paradise can hope to match the pure shimmering beauty of the peacock?s wings. It is the dance of love, of hope, played out in brief moments of time, and in transient rapture. Long may the artist of nature transport my imagination.
Emerton.
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THE HOUSEBOAT.
Moored deep on remote wash saltings, lifted by spring tides of the North Sea, my imagination soared above reality. A young boy alone on the sea, only mist, seals, iodine and salt joined me. The Tilley lamp flickered as the air ran out, not a wildfowler would hear my shout, of a lonely youth intoxicated by earthly elements and life itself.
Jim Emerton.
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