Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘hills’

THE TOWERS OF SUMMER

clouds roll

mixed with sunlight

slowly down

the side of Y Garn Dwad.

the hay is in now

so let it rain a warm rain.

now, now, everything green

reaches upward in one great exhale.

the towers of summer stretch out, bow down.

there is thunder

in the distance, so they say,

and the rivers will soon be filled again.

the surface of Llyn Berwyn though,

shall not be troubled for long:

it will return to its quiet reflection

of hills and cloud,

the brown trout

hardly noticing

a world

that cannot decide

between this and that.

held firm it is, unperturbed,

the lake that lies

in earth’s firm

folded hands.

Read Full Post »

A DANCE UPON Y GARN

The bones of the hills

The bones of rivers

The bones of the mist

The bones of meaning.

How shall we talk to the bones

Of things, the sweet marrow?

That great grey slope,

A rising falling sine wave,

A rumbling note bending horizons.

Converse with it dressed thus in cloud

And become a stranger removed from illusion.

Untied, drifting, anchored only to words

And a dance that is so so slow, it brings worlds to their end

And changes them that new languages are needed

To begin to know it, to begin to know it.

Read Full Post »

DHRUPAD 23 (green)

Look now green green now.

Even green in the hills, the high cold hills

with their hearts of stone, sniff the green the tips of bracken there

amongst the old debris pink and brown,

so many cold nights

and winds and slow days of so slow heavy rain.

By the thin rivers and

the fast streams the sedges green and growing

that were hog bristle brown, dead and belligerent and wan wan wan.

And even

the clouds even the clouds

so low and slow and fast, tinged now with

a certain green a certain glow a reflected green, a green smile the world

knows

once frosts are gone and the larger days and the cowslips

foaming over the roadsides in drooping cream bee buzzing delight

now.

The pink grey empty slopes over Aberedw peppered

all peppered with hawthorn white and creamly perching there,

a crown for each moment each outcrop tonguing scented air

pert as hounds bright eyed and keen for sunlight warm and honey

smooth.

A green green breakfast it is now

for the hungry hills,

the hungry hills.

Read Full Post »

2018/11/img_4113.jpg

ROAD TO MAESMYNIS

These roads
Climbing back through time,
The golden oaks shading golden valleys
And a luminous cold blue in the cold sky.

Hard frost first thing, has gone.
The air lifts above freezing for a while.
In scattered farms the dogs bark as we pass.
The ruined church roofed in yew and box.

It will go nowhere, but end at a gate,
It will give the same view as memory does,
Changing things depending on what catches the eye.
This road says come and go, come but go.

And the sheep in the woods chew and stare.
Not far from the town, but slipped in time,
It curls and narrows, gives views and withholds views.

It remains in the passing sunlight of the mind,
Becoming something else: a map, a philosophy,
A litany of older names, the past holding steady,
Clothing memories in new skin.

Read Full Post »

Wandering over miles of sky;
The song of the height of the day;
Thoughts graze on distance.

There are many paths here, many views.
One can but choose this single moment
Where the next step may fall.

The old sages would place their huts
In quiet groves next to some riverbank,
Letting the world sing them to sleep.
Idly doing the will of heaven,
Showing the way by staying still.
Breathing as forests and mountains,
Babies full and swaddled in beauty.

Restless we wander, honking like geese,
Like sparrows in the eaves,
squabbling over straw.
Tears for the moon –
waxing and waning.

The best we can ever do:
To care for small things
And to learn
a deeper kindness.

2017/08/img_2968.jpg

Read Full Post »

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.

2015/08/p1120353.jpg

Read Full Post »

A lovely mist
Swaddles and swathes,
Dissolving the ground.

The chant of it –
An ululation of hilltops,
A thin taste of cloud.

The silent morning,
A slow rolling light,
A gentlest breeze,
A river ripple.

A high
And abandoned moon
Sings up the sun.

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »

%d bloggers like this: