12
The Singing Wood
In the tangled thicket
Blackthorn barbs of thought
With no safe way to turn
Suspended, doubtful, tired,
A bright berry yet –
Container of seed, small hope
Only requiring its portion
Of sun and soil.
A dream of all the islands
Bridged and bounteous
Dangerous Sounds, riptides of recrimination,
Gravestones of sorrow
Mapped, but foresworn.
The few that foolish fought
Squabbling, slaying the hopes
Of all others, forgiven
But no longer exalted.
Each land with its sweet air
Breathing new life into its own
Sweet song, strong language
Not misered, but known by all
Shaped, gloried, delighted in.
The blessings of all required by all.
The gold of happenstance
A fountain of benevolence.
No capercaillie strut, no clash
Of antlered rut – lords only
Of knowledge and kind words.
All requiring all, sustaining all.
In the flash of day between
Long night and long night
The hearth of kindness
The food of companionship.
Islands no longer prisons of belief
Walled by the bones of the slain.
Each a tree: oak, ash, thorn,
Birch, mazzard, distinct, shining,
A singing wood of distinction,
Where roots sustain
Woven tight together
Where branches catch light,
A net of bright breezes dancing.
Where trunks are lithe, given space,
Grow strong,
Sheltered and warmed by all.
Islands of the blessed,
Apple islands,
Shining in sunlit seas.
simonhlilly 
Love the range of emotion, the symbolism of trees and their life cycles adjacent to our own relationship/life experiences… well done and love the light of the last line… Imagine… John Lennon was right… so are you. š
Thank you. The whole piece is maybe darker and more heavy than I first thought it would be, but maybe that makes the occassional brightnesses more welcome!
What do you reference when you write? What well do you drink at? From whence did you evolve such stanzas? How to think in such terms, it’s oracle in nature. Maybe that’s the clue?
Well I wouldn’t say that I am well read in poetry or literature ( probably more than most, but that’s not saying a lot). If I read it tends to be non-fiction as I can usually put that down after a few pages or a chapter. I find that fiction not only can take up a lot of time, but also flavours mood and how I think. I suppose my seed inspirations have been Old English poems, Icelandic Sagas, the style of Celtic tales and poetry ( though I don’t read in the original), and really only recently some of the modern Gaelic poets, most especially Sorley MacLean and Aongus MacNeacail, both from Skye. The latter I find exquisite. Both these men translate their own work from Gaelic into English, so they can mirror their meaning as close as they like. Chinese and Japanese poetry has also been a great influence, especially in its combination of natural observation and metaphysics. I did read quite a lot of contemporary poetry in the sixies and early seventies, when it was cool to read poetry, so must have imbibed a certain amount then: Adrian Mitchell, Leonard Cohen. I have a fair reading of Himalayan metaphysics, so that creeps in with imagery and style. Also shamanic cosmologies, which are always accompanied by trance verse forms and songs. I tend towards the rhythms and forms of chant and spell, skaldic, bardic, and this tends to shape and control any of my despair snd spite when it needs to come out in a rant. Oracles are fascinating to me, both language and methods. As an artist they provide a means to combine visual with verbal ( though I have more in the planning than the execution). When it is not simple observation, I prefer to use the forms of poetry to explore metaphysics or other ideas as I can get the stuff out of my head and down on paper relatively quickly. Essays etc are all very well but its less easy to keep up multiple trains of thought than in a more terse verse.( (Also can be more relaxed truth, reality, honesty and other limitations to rational or philosophical argument)