Posted in Uncategorized, tagged birds, corvus species, crows, Haiku, Haiku-ish, kites, landscape, late winter, nature, Poetry, Wales on March 9, 2016| 9 Comments »
Early morning frost
Wind beneath the raven’s wings
A nice cup of tea.
—
The first drops of rain
Three kites skim the valley floor
Their cries long and thin.
—
In the tall oak
by the chapel door
A gang of jackdaws
telling smutty jokes.
They have no care
for the slow sermons
of crows,
Nor the ponderous theology
of glint-eyed
ravens.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged art, Haiku, Haiku-ish, landscape, landscape photography, photography, Poetry, Wales, Winter on December 23, 2015| 6 Comments »
ADVENT
1
A bitter edge.
Two ravens
Smudge motionless air.
A blessing it is
To have breath.
2
The slant of rain
Roars on rooftops again.
The fire, though, burns bright.
A blessing it is
To have breath.
3
A slow dawn.
The hills have yet to return
From their night journeys.
4
Oak’s iron hand.
Black veins
Holding what remains
Of sunlight.
5
A thousand galaxies
In the old man’s beard.
Sudden brightness
On a winter’s path.
6
A knot of dream,
Tangled,
Sinks down into darkness
Still wriggling.
7
Mercury and lead
Are the roads leading to emptiness.
Puddle-edged, empty,
They rise and fall
As if someone
Were watching.
8
Time slows,
Withers and stops.
Solstice.
Only the rain.
A blessing it is
To have breath.
—
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged art, black and white, dawn, drawing, Haiku, Haiku-ish, landscapes, night rain, Poetry on October 17, 2014| 2 Comments »
In the mist at daybeak:
Ghost of whitened
mountain
Climbs thunderclouds.
Under eaves,
through slow rain spatter,
Small bats chase,
wings squeeking.
Still is the air.
We tumble
and totter
through space.
—
We are now such
A tower of cloud
And rain.
A roar,
A drumroll,
A whisper,
Percussed silence.
Leaving glistening
Green skin:
This world.
—
As she sleeps
I find her slopes
And gullies.
I love the
Familiar folds.
A rising mountain
I become
And she,
The deep greens
And valley dark.
No distinction:
One rising breath,
One landscape.
We, a loved land
Clouded and clear.
—
<
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged alap, April morning, April showers, Bhairavi, birdsongart, blackbirds, England, Haiku, Haiku-ish, Indian music, jor alap, landscape, morning, music, nature, photograhy, Poetry, raag, rain, Sound on April 27, 2014| Leave a Comment »
HAIKU : ALAP AND JOR ALAP
Raag Bhairavi
Alap of blackbirds
Rain cooling breeze.
—
Liquid air
Alap of blackbirds
Wind tampura.
—
Cloud blooms blackbird’s song
New green sways dances
Welcome rains welcome breezes
Mind tongue tastes cool day
Touch settled on clear moments.
—
(Classical Indian music is arranged in developmental sections. First, is a slow alap where the notes of the scale (raga, raag) are explored in relation to the pakad or thematic melody of the piece. Next comes a jor alap, which is slightly more structured with a rhythmic percussive accompaniment on the chikari strings ( akin to strumming on the guitar combined with a lead melody picked out).
Raag Bhairavi is one of my favorites. I believe it is a morning raag, but has a rather haunting and melancholy pakad with a lovely descent of notes.)
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged contrast, dawn, Good Friday, Haiku, haiku sequence, Haiku-ish, landscape, moon, Poetry, rising, the infinite, thinness, weightlessness on April 18, 2014| 2 Comments »
GOOD FRIDAY
1
Dew beads the grasstops,
Drawn upwards by the moon.
Still air,
birdsong, too, rising.
My heart,
weightless
Lifts,
Hollow ghost.
2
Beading grasstops
Dew drawn upward –
The brightest moon
The brightest moon
Birdsong rising –
Cloudless sky
Cloudless sky –
My heart, weightless,
Turns like a ghost.
Turns like a ghost,
Moon in the west,
Seeks shelter
In the deep hills
In the deep hills
Night remains.
Rising birdsong
Rising birdsong
A world dividing.
Edges of the sky
Edges of the sky
Weightless heart
Moonlit dawn
Moonlit dawn
Rising and falling
The way of heaven
Way of heaven
Floating heart
Weightless souls
Weightless souls
Rise on birdsong.
The dew has fallen.
3
Taking wing
They rise and melt –
Departing moments.
Departing moments.
My weightless soul
Rolls over
In cool, moonlit dawn
In cool, moonlit dawn
Dreams depart.
The way of heaven.
The way of heaven:
One window, the moon.
One window, the sun,
Heart between,
Remaining.
4
The dead rise weightless.
Some to the sun,
Some to the moon,
Some to the hollow skies.
They rise on floating song,
The birds of dawn.
Turning slowly,
Moment by moment
Forgetting their names,
Into the eternal expanses
Of a patient heaven.
—
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged april, Haiku, landscape, March, moon, nature, Poetry, rainbows, spring, storm, weather on April 9, 2014| 2 Comments »
Passionate lovers,
These winter and spring days.
March and April,
How they so
Tear at each other, caress
With smiles,
Fall together,
Push apart, preen,
Rush oblivion and break
As waves at high tide
On each other’s panting flesh.
Rain
Seeds dashed,
Rainbows unfurl,
Sudden sun, dark squall,
A mating in time and space,
Conjunction of contraries.
—
Moon worn thin
High north wind
Spring thaw.
—
Half a moon
Ice in the river
Slowly melting.
—
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Haiku, moon, night, oceans, Poetry, Ryokan, Sound, space, stars, whales on March 7, 2014| 2 Comments »
WEIGHTLESS
The whales weightless
In their heaven.
The spice islands of the night.
Drowned in
Midsummer blue
Scattered, sprinkled.
They sing across half a world:
These whales weightless
Rippled in starlight.
The golden moon is a song.
They shall sing the song
Of one line,
Of one world,
Of one note,
Endlessly satisfied.
The dark with its peacock eyes,
The bruised lips of the rose,
The scented fingers of night.
Wordless on the wings of fluid song
The curves they leap,
The sideways slide of their dream:
The stars that weave the hours.
Ryokan says:
Months pass, days pile up
Like one intoxicating dream-
An old man’s sighs.
One bowl
Is the moon.
One robe
Is the sky.
He says:
Dreaming about this dream world again
Old memories return.
Ten thousand mountain paths.
And they are weightless
In their blue heaven,
Stars, mountains,
Whales.
The spice of moonlight
Scented of roses.
Wordless they turn,
Sighing they turn,
Weightless, wordless:
These days piling up,
Endless paths, winged,
Sliding, drifting,
Weightless.
came across some old scribblings, upon which this piece was constructed
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Autumn, diary, fleeting flitters, gestures, Haiku, landscape, mind weather, momento vita, penmanship, phrases, Poetry, ruins, short poems, William Blake, word tennis, writing on September 18, 2013| 7 Comments »
INVISIBLE FRIENDS 6
Time for a new batch of scribbles inspired by other’s words here, webbed together catching jewelled flies, eating or storing them for colder, frosted mornings…
OBIT.
Terse words
for a long peal of time,
a good,
an only, place ,
for such as he to rest.
—-
GIFT
Even so,
beautiful writing,
a dove released,
vanishing into cloud.
Knowing emptiness is,
at least, knowing something.
—
ASANA
My tongue,
a bookmark,
syllabub syllables,
sutras,
plough with brows furrowed,
let us lotus,
pray pray away,
body buddy bodhi,
enlonged lungs,
a crack of knees
( not a new noise, yknow).
A sound stretching out.
—
CASTLE WALLS
The draw of ruins!
What is it?
The harsh past crumbled back,
mulch,
earth music…..
—-
GHOSTS, FLEAS, A MUSE.
We,
Ghosts
Of poetry,
Stumbling lines,
Echoed,
Staring far off:
The effort
To recall.
—-
HAY BALES
Wheels fallen off the sun wagon.
It falters and droops
towards a fall.
——
COMPOSITION, DECOMPOSITION
A dance in slightest sound:
first mind rolling mutters,
then quiets as pen flows scratching,
the silence between words,
a rush of voices.
Silence is not an absence of sound..
—-
THE GREAT WORK
Selecting or not selecting,
wearing a mask,
choosing a mask,
revealing, hiding.
Dipping in a toe,
how deep these black waters of self?
How fast,
how airlessly drown,
out of depth,
no one watching.
—-
AS WELL
As well as can be.
When we fray thin,
with time or weather,
it’s only a sign, perhaps,
to deepen roots
and not mind the storm winds,
nor the thoughts
circling laments in empty skies….
—-
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged awareness, bereavement, blogposts, commentaries, grief, Haiku, inspirations, moments, origami, Poetry, time, wordplay, words on July 8, 2013| 2 Comments »
Conversations with invisible friends(4). Herewith, before they get overlain with other things, another collection of bits and bobs inspired by the blog posts of others. For which I am very grateful….
BIG ROCK
Warm sun
And the dance of laughter,
Sinking deep.
(The weight of stone
Is its memory
Of moving things).
—-
MOTE
Speculation,
moving specks:
what is in my eye,
I see.
It may be clarity,
or clouded vision.
A message
or misinterpretation.
—-
ORIGAMI POEM
Fold mind
Fold sound
Find word
Sharp lines
Open, closed
Tip of tongue
Held between lips
This way
Then that way
Frozen form flows
Into paper.
—-
SOUND ANALYSIS
Great folds of rock!
A lovely beach of curled words
and washed reaches.
What is not “supplement”?
(such a French word
made clunky 3:4 ,
almost an engine jive
with a touch of 4:4
(that gear change between ‘n’ and ‘t’,
a secret hidden pause as the mouth adjusts).
Mouth music.
—
OLD PORTRAIT PHOTOGRAPH
Black and white
frozen light.
Eternalising
the inconsequent
moment.
LKeeping the fleeting
flicker of instants.
Remembering how easy
it is to forget.
Stealing souls or
letting them live
forever?
—–
WAITING ROOM (FUGUE)
When the real
Pushes hard
We slip shattered
Holding still.
Stretched
Transparent, even,
Beyond help
(though never really).
Timeless
Between events
Distanced, grey,
Ghosted hollow by
Too many endings.
Sloughing skins.
Abandoning identities
That fail
(as if they were ever
Sure or sound).
Uncertain of echoes..
–
Tracing grey worlds
Mapping consequences
Of beginning and ending.
Sloughing identity,
Ghosted hollow…
–
When the real
Pushes hard
We slip shattered
Holding still.
Stretched
Transparent, even,
Beyond help
(though never really)
Sloughing identity,
Ghosted hollow.
Somewhere
Weeping.
—
CELLULAR
It is cellular,
how the body grieves,
despite tutting mind,
bright-rouged beliefs.
It is the bones,
the guts,
mycelial nerves.
The hymn of cells,
eternal charnel and chantry,
never expecting anything
other than to pass on,
to pass on,
to cancel,
to forget,
to never forget.
—
ETERNAL EPHEMERA
How still
The lashes of your eyes
Searching words
How still
How long
The slow rise of your breath
Searching peace
How long
How fine
The enamelled morning
Blue, shadowed
How fine
How light
The dive of swallows
above buttercup shine
How light
How still, how long
How fine, how light,
This filigree life
Floating skywards
—-
SPILT LIGHT
Crackled clear
not yet broken.
Hold on or let go.
You will not be forgotten.
—-
simonhlilly 
Conversations with Invisible Friends(15)
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged ambience, art, bits and pieces, comments, consciousness, Haiku, Haiku-ish, inspiration, interiors, landscape, photography, Poetry, short pieces, summer, writing on August 17, 2014| Leave a Comment »
CONVERSATIONS 15
REWRITE
Convincing ghosts rewrite our certain pasts,
or bitter to the last, at least try to inject their dying voices,
inject their reasons, their stories.
We all, full of hunger, scurry for validation,
deny our small wickednesses, rewrite, remember.
—
SHADED
In that
Green shade
We are made
And unmade.
Click of insect moments.
—
COUPLET
The demons of eloquence
are not always right,
but their arguments
should always ruffle and delight!
—
HARMONIC
What each we are,
A note plucked once and dying.
Attack, sustain, release, delay.
That harmonic wave is what we are,
How we intrude,
How we linger.
—
SMALL
Over that hill it is always dawn, always midnight.
The smell of dew on hay,
The rising insects floating silent.
All this is uniquely ours –
This dawn, this sunset,
A moment fashioned and nested.
An egg of memory, in this small circle.
—
SUNLIT
The pillars of the sky:
Skylark’s song.
Morning stillness.
—
NOT QUITE
In you…
Nothing moves
That is not world’s spin,
Past’s voice.
A wind’s will,
A wisp,
Not quite a nothing
Not quite a quite…
—
EDGE
One star remaining
White edge of the summer night
Rimmed, restless, drawn out.
—
BINARY
Alert
Or asleep, on
or off,
The eye
Of the I,
Blink, unblink,
Blink.
—-
VALEDICTION
The vale of now.
We move in and out of it
Hardly touching,
So caught up we are:
The sounds of our own echoing,
Fading footprints.
Mouthing alphabets
And times-tables.
Numerate, literate,
Dust dressed in story,
Veiled whisp, regardless.
—
Share this:
Read Full Post »