Posted in Uncategorized, tagged art, cultivation, enjoyment, equanimilty, gardening, grace, intellect, intuition, joy, landscape photography, looking, patience, Poetry, questions, relaxing intellect, searching, the unexpected on September 28, 2015| Leave a Comment »
Should we
look for answers,
forcing that fragile seed
of knowing
to sprout?
Or simple,
garden our questions,
the burgeon of complexity,
the fertile stretch
for light,
and delight
in tangled undergrowth,
hoping one sunny day,
for a fine
unexpected
perfect flower,
whose curves inward
drown all words,
a nectar to dance about,
coordinates to silent perfection,
a perfumed breath
in and out.
—-
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged art, becoming, biophilia, consciousness, cosmologies, folklore, image, manifesting, photography, Poetry, shamanism, tattoo, tree, wisdom on September 21, 2015| 2 Comments »
THE WOMAN WHO WOULD DANCE
The woman who would dance on treetops;
who would walk with trees,
Tell me:
What is the shape and form and extent of the tree?
What is its roots, and what its height?
How can its girth be encompassed?
How can its wisdom be translated?
There is, you see, no merit in finding answers.
Answers are not how this, or any other, universe functions.
Multiply the questions.
Each a branch, each a root.
Questions. Spreading, holding,
Illuminating, transducing.
The word for tree
Is the word for truth,
And it is not one thing
Nor many.
To wrap it around an ankle,
A web around a bone, around skin
Around a scent, around a movement.
To wear a tree. To be worn,
Within and without.
Smiled upon, an ocean waved and rippled.
To be cast out upon a twig,
Without a name,
In a bag with no name,
In a basket with no name.
To forget one name, a touch of light,
A trembling on starlight,
A passage between attractors.
Begin and continue:
That is a tree.
An umbrella to worlds
A clamour of tongues
Green and cymbal-sharp,
Their little edges are questions.
To find an image
One must not seek an image,
(we need no other backwards mirror things),
To scribble and allow the dust
To coagulate, drip and remember
That all the waters of the world
Are one river.
The slightest, remotest puddle,
Slowly drawn upward, freedom
Within gravity to become cloud,
The tiniest thing, the thing most free,
Falling with accumulation,
Flowing with urgent weight,
Becoming all else by need.
A fountain of water held upright
By the will of the sun.
An urge to delve darkness,
To send out messengers,
To converse with all the syllables of scent.
This becomes another tree, so you see.
A one, a self, a many, a one.
Passionately, she wishes to become inscribed,
Pictured, illuminated, to become aligned,
Limned, re-limbed.
Chosen, loosed, re-booted,
A future unveiled, woven around.
The past taken up, enthroned
And unfolded. Truth made real
In arching bough, the only dance there is,
A bounce up and out from ground
And a certain, graceful, impossibly slow
Decline.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged art, becoming, being, belonging, breath, BreconBeacons, Caer Carmarthen, deep ecology, enduring, evolution, landscape, landscape photography, life, Poetry, transmutation, Wales on September 11, 2015| Leave a Comment »
THOU ART
this earth
breathed upon
(the warm breath
of love and lust)
holds for a little while
in wonder
then retreats
to sighing earth.
its breath
passed on.
a whisper
in the forest,
a gust
below the rocks
and the high heather.
where the kites
and ravens wheel.
and the sun and stars,
too, kindled, embers,
by that offered air.
—
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged art, landscape, Llangammarch, photography, Poetry, St. Cammarch's church, Wales on September 8, 2015| 1 Comment »
ENCLOSURE OF CONFLUENCE
The dead roll and slip downhill
Chasing their bouncing heads,
Big as cheeses, down to the midstream island,
Fish-shaped and floundering in summer shallows
(it not having rained a whole day yet).
A hullaballoo choired
By the black flung jackdaws
Skimming the tiles, sound bouncing
Off the echoing bells.
Low droop the days.
How jolly the dreams
Of froth and fuschia bud
Dripping red from garden walls.
So quiet as to hear every noise,
Here in the round mouth of eternity:
The splitting rock, the lichen creep,
The self-taught letters silent mouthed
Born such and such, died such and such,
A good day ended, ne’er forgot,
Bearing many loving children.
Where now our utter quiet and wild-eyed saints?
Perched on their hills, blessing miraculous waters,
Passionate for the bigness of God,
Spread winged and leaping
Into skies of echoing praise.
Turn serpent-like to the steady pilgrimage,
Our certain roads,
These small piled eggs of pure white quartz,
The sign and signature for hard days
And steady hearts – an offered hope.
All here where two streams mingle,
The inner and the outer path.
A melancholy garden, neat kept and bordered.
Beyond the quiet lanes and clean swept steps
Another place altogether
Blowsy and careless with candles and dust,
An accumulated pigment, sun faded.
The glorious stars, an ocean
Upon which a silver bowl
Of tipping moon
Will late, near dawn, arise.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged art, fear of the unknown, Haiku-ish, landscape, nature photography, Poetry, sensate perception, subterfuge, symbolism, the state of the State, the undefined, twilight, uncertainty on September 1, 2015| Leave a Comment »
Twilight now
no certain edge
no end nor beginning of it,
an inperceptible slide.
Colours smudge,
blood turns black
(its bitter colour)
lost in peeled shadow.
All ruins stir-
a swung memory,
tacit rhythm,
mumbled sight pitter-patters.
A moth wing trepidation
vibrating mica dust,
dew singed,
a collapse in certainty.
A heavenly moment
of relapse.
cascading inconsequence.
silent dice tumbled,
bounce and settle.
—
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged art, biosphere, deep ecology, fog, Land of the dead, landscape, landscape photography, light, mountains, numinous, perception, Poetry, self-, Wales on August 25, 2015| 5 Comments »
This land,
The land of the dead,
A second skin, translucent,
Golden.
At the centre of each apple,
The sign of love:
The fivefold mutable, son and mother.
Over mountains a cream and violet fog,
Rolled, undulous, attentively folds.
A mysterious union,
Somewhat secret and holy.
The sky, a long vowel, holding its light.
A fluent time,
A tickled, breezeless sigh.
Not so still as to be nothing.
For the tiny roar
Of valley trees, a whispered thing
Measuring miles.
Vaporous drop,
Drip, congealed,
A reflected skin of nothing,
A silver round fruit,
Womb, belly, dream.
This skin
Is our beautiful horizon,
An inner organ.
Our own birdsong:
A poetic heart.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged art, landscape photography, manifestation, melting, night, Poetry, texture, transformation, Wales, writing on August 24, 2015| 2 Comments »
GATHER YE
Stealthy as a cat
Night stalks a low moon.
A philosophy of cloud and rain,
A savoured language
Where trees and rocks
Become long, slow vowels.
The wet and fallen tongues
Of petalled roses
Cleaved to bough and path
Melting into something else.
Into the night,
Peeling words
From shape of vastness
And the thick, still silence,
While this world’s half
Dreams and settles down
In a bed of time and skittered light.
Cool along with the living
And the dead, all equal
In shadowed starlight
A tide of slight passions.
Rolling tongue, a roaring
Back and forth
But not so near
As to quell
The simple comfort
Of flecked
And flickered night.
Within its quiet purr
The padding cats
And careful mice
And white flow
Of owls
And the eternal rope river
Hurrying down the valley,
Tree-clothed and glorious.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged art, August, dawn, hill country, landscape photography, landscspe, late summer, light, mist, photography, Poetry, seasons, sky, valleys, Wales on August 20, 2015| Leave a Comment »
Swathed, mist cool
Tasting blue dawn
As still as an egg
Hushed as only August can be
Held in a lap of seasons
Replete, ripening,
Remembered now
The bite that is frost,
The gradual fall inwards.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged art, hills, islands, landscape photography, Poetry, sea, silence, space, Wester Ross, Western Isles on August 9, 2015| 2 Comments »
WESTER COAST
These hills, this silence-
Silent enough to hear each sound,
Its beginning, its flight, its echoed end.
Silence as balm,
As high tide harbour wave,
Silence that lifts up, that sustains.
Where weight becomes weightless,
Where distance has a taste.
Where rain curves in
And burnishes the light.
Where breath is more
Than breath, is food.
Where night clothes slow,
And owls name space
And the wind across the grasses,
Across the bracken,
Across the rock,
Across the years.
Named,
Whispered forever.
Whispered names rolled,
Remembered.
Stone,
The music of stone,
The certainty of it,
Of its voice
Across the waters.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged art, continuity of dreaming, dawn, day, dream, Gayatri mantra, landscape photography, Poetry, sleep, three worlds, Wales on July 31, 2015| Leave a Comment »
BHUH BHUVAH SVAH
the river of sleep:
not quite song
not quite words,
a murmur continuing.
i have climbed
from the river of sleep
to the river of dawn:
not quite song,
not quite a speaking,
a slow unfolding moment
tasting, somewhat, something.
the river of day:
a strong river is its dream,
a shout of song,
a babble, a chant.
the valley grows clear,
the mountains recede.
the river mind meanders,
silk in the valley of light
to the gayatri metre,
a blue rhythm ornamented
jewelled,
to one infinite presence.
—
