simonhlilly

Another recent poem that looks at the ever-changing seasons of the northern world.

SEASON’S END

There is no harbour here to settle in.

The connected river that flows

Is of a restless dreaming mind.

Weaving, weaving spiral, ins and outs.

Away, away the spinning leaf.

Away, the clouds at evening.

Only wheel, there, and lithe snake.

The lightning wriddled seasons

Wriggling into dried grasses,

Into deep ice-edged pools,

Into wild joyous storm winds.

Spinning wheel and syphate snake,

A head too full of stars to stay still,

But dance, dance, dance on.

Season’s slither earthwards – this serpent’s hiss,

Glimmer flash fast grass hid.

Zig zag and gilded glance,

Tasting air and the wild dance of it.

Thought shapes the world –

Leans towards prophecy.

What shall be, has been.

And what has never been is waiting there.

Season’s end, no ending at all.

–

Autumn colours, River Irfon, Llanwrtyd. Part of my extended photographic series: ‘A Welsh Dreaming‘