My poems are, in essence, refined emotional responses to agrarian life. (Though not a farmer, I grew up surrounded by farms in the Overberg—an agricultural region in the Western Cape Province of South Africa—to which I feel a profound, near spiritual connection.)

They invariably begin as rough vers libre reflections, poetic sketches which I gradually shape into traditional lyric stanzas; an outburst like “An Exaltation” could easily be an example of how my poems begin—indeed, its title was taken from an abandoned sketch.

My verses are idylls, pastorals in the Romantic style, recreations of simple encounters in the countryside: a rarely-seen creature suddenly before you (“A Rhebok!”), a blanket of fog on the cliffs (“Mist on the Mountain”), a flitting passerine on the wing (“To a Swallow”).

The sketch I am developing now—“Cranes and Sheep”—is a joyful recollection of a familiar sight here one glorious December afternoon in 2017 (summer in South Africa) when the Blue Cranes were truly the hue of the sky and the Merino Sheep that of the field!

1. The quality is low as they were at a distance; I had to use maximum zoom on the iPhone.

Still a developing poem (chiefly in its closing stanza for which I keep inventing new ideas and am yet to choose a direction) I have been indecisive about the working title of “Mist”. Recently shortened from “Mist from the Mountains” (one of ten possibilities that arose as the poem took shape), I have now returned to an altered version: “Mist on the Mountain”.

As I recite the stanza variations, it seems to me they do require a longer introduction—a line rather than a word, to best reflect their content. “Mist on the Mountain” is (at least for the time being) a more appropriate choice in its aspect and length—a better start to the poem. I am confident that it shall be the final title, but poesy is such that I cannot be certain.