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CHAPEL PINES

Gosen chapel now is grey and silent.
hard to keep warm
without the wrath of God.

filled twice, filled thrice a year
when the dog-tired farmers, or
their small, steadfast wives, turn, turn and
return, to the sleepy earth
they are made from.

jackdaws in the chapel oak
are the black-clad preachers now,
and the line of pines that divide
the living from the dead, and the west wind
that scours the marshy fields,
joining together in dreary, beautiful psalms.

they keep the view open to the empty hills:
the wandering constellations of sheep,
the souls of these departed lovers,
grazing the lovely green.

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DEFINITION

Somewhere between prayer and weeping.
Something like science and song.
When the wind catches your breath
And the waves fill the shore with longing.
When the cauldron bubbles and three drops unbidden
Jump hot and perfect onto the fingertips of your tongue.
When the ordinary suchness takes on shimmer.
When the sound of it somehow does not die away but lingers.
When it feeds us as nothing else can because it is why we are made:
The speaking of heart and head and gut.

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snow night now

Snow now, falling without degrees, silent as night is.
I shall become night, standing still here,
Starfilled and let go of all, dying slowly,
Imperceptibly cooler, waiting small sounds
and sight to clear, the shapes of other’s thoughts
Falling white and falling white
To settle without degrees and blameless.

The words tumble, some mine, some from elsewhere,
Which is which and why distinguish?
The small noises of the night
In snowfall and starlit dark.

The stars, nothing more patient
Nor sorrowful, watching it all blink
And change, blink and vanish,
Blink and sleep.
World’s bones grow cold
So far from fires
So far from fires.

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LAND MASS

It goes deeper, deeper than the flowering Cymru
Fighting like cockerels, fighting like stallions,
Shaping its gold, sharpening its iron,
Burying their wise in wells and living for eternity.

It goes deeper, deeper than the careful hunters
Moulding bone and wood, sure- handed, closed-lipped,
With measuring eyes, with sparkling eyes,
Fire- gathered and moving on, moving on.

It goes deeper, deeper than the bear-must caves
And the guardian watchers over the far plains,
Dried and herd-filled and spun with the sky-filled mysteries,
The wheeling light, the earth, the sky, the roads between.

It goes deeper, deeper than this. Delved, rooted out,
Held firm, a fountain of birdsong, an endless forest
And the glimmer of scents woven, woven.
Warm blood and racing hearts offered, shared, changing shape.

It goes deeper, deeper than sound to those silences of aquamarine,
Not rock nor liquid but the grinding of time on time
Scraping the bowl of the land by slow scraped degrees,
A return to the simplest and the sheltered nests of first things
Miles below groaning ice, dreaming of procreation
The passing on of breath to breath, an exhalation of word.

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DHRUPAD 20 (this moment)

Look, look, look now, this this this moment
this this moment, how it is, how it is,
this this moment, how it is, how still
how fast, how still, how fast, how sweet
how fast, river river river singing fast
how this moment river singing fast, singing fast
and slow slow light filters down filters leaf down
green down wavering waving wavering
leaf green filter down and dreaming
and dreaming dreaming mind watching nothing
in nothing in nothing in particular look look
this moment nothing in particular still and sweet
fast and how sweet how still how sweet
swinging cloud river silence wind river
silence green river, silence sky river,
silence shadow river, silence sweet sweet
how this is this is look dreaming mind
river silence how fast this moment
how still this fast particular moment
shattered split open open silent open
cool open eye open surprised by nothing
by nothing but itself carving time
and itself look look how it is
how it is how it is.

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LUMINOUS

Luminous ghosts
in translucent
birdsong mornings.

Old friends
invisible
and dancing.

We will have forgotten everything,
( memory
being the engine
of eternal
destruction).

Magnanimous
in all things,
Utterly laughing,
missing nothing.

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SINTERED VOICES (DARK MATTER SPEAKS)

the river cracked open
becomes starry space

So many words it is a wonder that some peel through the razor noise intact
Not feathered limping, severed spluttering, gasping airless, a stupid music.

the void between emotions:
a valley wind that rolls stones

The howl continuous so familiar, the driver of conscientious actions.
Our names rumbling in the caverns of our ever drunken blood.

if the river runs silent
is it no longer a river?

Fearing silence most of all, we dress daily in chatter
Asking only that our dreams too have electric constancy.

listen, you mute guardians:
i will sing all your names

Oh, Enkidu, striding across tidy fields of tamed constraint
I shall kill you, too, though I love you more than life itself.

there are footprints on the moon
the dust of other lives, sighing

Taliesin, Taliesin, you burst from your womb-bag
Loud and shimmering. If you were not so beautiful
It would have been your tomb.

the silent centre of this land,
where is the end of all things

If you were not such a tricky lad
You would still be sitting next to inpenetrable darkness.

when there is knowledge
you shall be struck dumb

Yet here still you caper in circles around the utter void
Flapping your tongue and pulling faces.

all words, the debris
of other’s errors

all the masters have left us
as if they never were

fading petals pressed
between stained pages

an unexpected lightness
of forgetting why and how

this river, more song and sense
than a thousand nations

this tree, most eloquent
in its most eloquent, swaying silences

raven prophecy
whirlwind visions
the cataracts of unstitched minds
save us from all reasonable madness

we are adrift
on seas of fire,
and hungry,
so hungry, now.

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