Spotlight: D.A. Simpson
It's an amazing day to feature the work of someone I find highly talented. Today, on the Jimmy Broccoli page and website, it is my honor to present to you the poetry of D.A. Simpson.
D.A. Simpson consistently writes beautiful and angelic verse - clever and picturesque word choices that present themselves upon the page with majesty.
I most often read D.A. Simpson's poems at the end of a day - after I've temporarily put away all things dark, gloomy, and dimly lit and want to relax with (perhaps) a glass of wine. His poetry is smart and breathtakingly lovely as it paints photographic landscapes of elegance.
D.A. Simpson in his own words:
D. A. Simpson lives in a small coastal town in UK and enjoys jogging or walking in this beautiful part of the world. It is rich in delightful scenery of rolling hills, lofty cliffs, moorland, forests, fields, rivers and lakes. There is a magnificent coastline of stunning sea views beneath vast open skies; in this enchanting environment the poet spends many hours gazing at the beauty all around which invariably leads to poetry.
D.A.Simpson writes late in the evening when the world is hushed. The poetry often begins as a straightforward description of nature but frequently turns into philosophical and metaphorical musings.
It is with great enthusiasm to share the poetry of D.A. Simpson with you here. And, I'm certain you'll enjoy it! ______________
Light from a pale sun
Light from a pale sun spills from the empyrean heights and comes to rest awhile upon rolling hills of emerald green
It floods the ragged valley below as it cuts a rocky swathe 'tween the lofty monoliths that laze in the chill air of a winter's afternoon
Sunbeams of white gold seek out a river a'meander in a shimmer of light through a carpet of tranquil meadows That vanish into the radiant lambency of a distant horizon Beyond a remote wooded glade shrouded in vernal mists at the very edge of the world
~ d.a.simpson ~ ______________
A Thin Light
A thin light sparkles on the dew covered grass that blankets the empty fields Silent of birdsong and deserted of life Cloaked in the stillness which abides in the chill of a winter's morn
While the barren trees grace the frosted realm of dawn With a tranquil serenity that pervades the vernal mist at the break of day
As the shadows of an indigo nighttide flee with the vestiges of slumber Scattered amid the discarded dreams of a forgotten midnight hour
~ d.a.simpson ~