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Posts Tagged ‘landscape’

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KEY ONE
(forest of Caledon)

Green bed
Lie here safe.
Green heart
Rest here whole.
Green jewel
Rest here in light.
Over all and
Over Earth:
Completion.
Sufficient.
Wrapped in clouds
Held, not forgotten.
Endless is the mystery
Of life
Finding itself.
Sun and stars, even,
watch amazed.
Green heart of
All things.

the first of ten pieces attempting to encapsulate numinous landscapes of Scotland and the Western Isles. Landscapes that exist in memory, mind, folklore, as well as geographically. Access points to the Celtic (and pre-Celtic) Otherworlds. As a means to soul healing and the yearn of a return to an unreachable home

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CHAPTER SIX , TOWARDS EQUINOX

As if to remain
Were the price.
Time tips
And we tumble.
Vessels pouring into vessels,
Our sounds hollow,
Certainties measured,
Strangely vague.

All and nothing,
We stand rocking,
Drunk on swaying decks,
Seeking horizons.
Waking, dreams dissolve.
Sleep, and schemes fold inwards.

We name and name all things
Yet the Nameless still remains.
I shall hollow the wood,
Discover the bowl, round, knotted.
The receptive is the valley spirit,
Mother of all things.
It cannot fail, it is a veil,
A mist at dawn, a sigh,
A flight of silent birds heading west.
Leaves spin open, stretch green
Into dewy morning.
The air, still cold, substance
Slow moving.

The solace of hawks,
The solace of sparrows.
Clouds from the south pour light.
Moon-cooled, the blue west:
A line of hills none
Can see beyond.
It is as a veil, barely breathed,
Valley spirit holding, not holding,
Vast, the tip of the tongue,
A taste of spring,
A dream of summer.

For a moment,
Everything seemed perfect,
Before moving on.

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ONE MOMENT AFTER ANOTHER

1
The morning is
Daffodils and speedwell.

Above the tumble,
Jackdaws skim and surf
Blurred wind.

There will be,
(Say the clouds),
An afternoon of shadows
Collecting rainbows.

A season of light,
A thimble
Of forgetfulness.

2
Dawn reflex
A refection of cloud.
Nothing I could have done better.

Dappled elegance, cold blanket,
A tipping of scales,
A slow drift to the east.

A furrow, cross-cutting purpose,
A tiny friction, a wing-beat.

A sampling of enigmatic facts,
A certain blue
A certain distance,
A shading off into infinity.

(refection = a remaking, a nutrient, a food for body, mind and spirit)

3
New rising
Mist and birds,
Rising with the sun.
Rabbits pause and scatter.
Slow hills take form.
Heaven divides from earth.
A bleating of lambs.

4
Light in lines and waves
A moment mirroring
Off rooftop frost.
White grasses shudder and steam.
A birth of shadows, proud instants
No longer in between.

—

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STONE LORDS

Our tall hats, sky scraping, cloud stirring,
Raking, forming, our tall hats.

Our black hats, cliff-crag dark,
Storm dark, night full.
Our black hats.

Given by the lords of years,
These moving towers, rocking.
These watchtowers,
These habitations of watchers.
Given us.

Watchers, sky-full of silence.
Hawk-bright shaded eyes,
Biding behind dark brows,
We bide,
Dark browed.

We need not hands to raise against.
Need not fingers to point.
Nor voice to accuse,
Nor clever, subtle speech,
No invective.

Poise, presence,
Inscrutibility fledged beneath
The stern circle of dark rim.
Tall hats, dark hats, bestowing gravity,
Beacons of authority.

Rock dreaming,
Injected, a bolus of catastrophe.
We, the chorus,
Mocking your wriggled evacuations.
We shall never, as you will, now
Pass distraught, hand-wringing,
Rote excuse for skin.

We shall never squirm nor flutter,
Racing thither on dismal errand,
Bending brightness to aggrandise vapour,
Bending sense, roping goodness,
Making slave-chains to chafe the free.
Oh, we see clear.
We see your oily wishes,
Your sly agreements.
How you stain the day.
How you stain.

Our tall hats
Shall follow your ways.
Watch us on the heights.
Watch us circle dark valleys.
Unencumbered vigilence,
Patient for judgement,
Implacable,
Undeceived.

May your tiny,
Malevolent souls,
Naked and revealed,
Shrivel.
May your rights
Recycle to the innocent.
May the wheeling carrion birds
Revolve and clamour
Til you no more sully
This earth, this sky.
May you relinquish your folly
Before it plagues and howls,
Extirpating your breathing memory.

—-

Born from a recounted dream of handless beings guarding the clifftops from the perennial parastic politicians who wore tall black top hats. Reminded me of the crags of the Preseli hills, the watchers of Easter Island, the tall astronomically accurate solid gold hats of the Neolithic,
Of the cairns and tombstones of the quiet places, of the attentive wariness of those without voice…….

the image is from an Iron Age Celtic coin that seems to show a storm or mountain deity

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Drift

DRIFT

A half moon wanes,
Floating on birdsong.

The world spins towards darkness,
And spins towards light.

Clouds stretched, skeined,
Soft-edged, rippling.

A drift, a slow drift
Into day.

This quiet time,
Twilit, a gift given
Before the goad of doing.

—

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STORM DAYS

This hollow, unrevealed sky.
Dipping, a magpie attempts a new meridian,
A straight flight to food or shelter.

The dead elms’ reaching fingers quiver;
Power chords, the cables roar.

We each and all must huddle and endure,
With the sparrows, with the ever joyous,
Garrulous sparrows – delicate and subtle
In their design, a clutch of heartbeats,
Warm, communal.

No malevolence in the weather.
No malfeasance in the storm.
Another day to sing about.

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Four pieces from early this morning, ancestral mutters: sky crowns and words from the Anglo-Saxon.

SIGNIFICATOR

The whispers of the stars of dawn,
Rooted in deep paths, seated mind.
Mind that seeks names only,
Seeks genealogies, plumbs down fathoms,
The pitch of rightness.
To themselves they whisper,
Remembering the weave and twist of gold,
The movers in the shadows,
The movers of twilight,
The flickering torchlight,
The muffled, shuffled feet of steady procession,
Of circular dance taking up positions,
Constellations of mirrored geometries
Winding up time before babes yawn,
Before the aches of morning stretch and sigh.
Before the biting cold, the stirring of embered dawn.
Before has passed.
Before has misted away.
The whispered eloquence of now,
A tranquil moment turned and knotted,
A place remembered on a silent road:
Signpost, crossed paths, significator.

—-

FIRE PRAYER

I kneel, cold water,
Before the fire to kindle,
A prayer for light and warmth:
Cold water, flying cloud.
For spark and roaring:
Cold wave, cold tide.
For return of belonging,
For reason to remain.

—-

WANDERER

The lament of the dispossessed –
The long diminishing curlew.
The urgent, soft cries of lovers –
Wild geese, wild geese.
The road is a way but not a home.
The footsteps of others, small consolation
When they have vanished to the horizon,
Gone on before, singing the old song.
Cloud-cloaked wanderer tasting salt.
His children, weighed metre,
The lilt of left and right.

—

ACHE

Raked by claws
(This wolf cold).
Blood stain tumbling
Clear watered pools:
These clouds of squall
In dawn skies.
World’s ribs sigh
And shiver –
The ache
Of onwards.

—

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VALLEY SPIRIT

Over the last hill
Our prize is the view

Where the village nests,
Wood wreathed, woodsmoke.

Gathered fields almost,
Almost ready for spring

But patient, cautious,
Unhurried.

As unhurried as the morning.
Its grey lambswool clouds,
A blanket for Imbolc.

—

CROSS-HATCH

Imbolc morning:
Clouds like wolves,
And sheep.
Sun on all.

—

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DAWN CHORUS AND MOMENTS OF FROST

As if this feather, slow-turning, falls,
One breath of ice, branching blades
Arcing ghosts of fern, arced ghost of forests.
Pinioned cold, eager, aware, edge fractured.
Fingertips feeling for pattern, the familiar
Stretched pale, translucent.

As the scattered, sprinkled pierce of sound,
Woven between moonlit pale dawn wind,
Tumbling, cascades and choirs,
A flurry of beak and breast-soft down.

As all life joined up by song,
No less, no more meaning than this.
Small hearts full and pouring,
The vessel, vehicle, of the world.

No more and no less than this:
The opening of small mouths,
The fast tremble of accepting hearts.
Light now, and slow revolutions through space.

This place, placement, placid, pellucid.
Transcendent fingers frosting fine feathers,
Growing, though not grasping,
Water flowers framed in ice.

Small time, halted, crystalline.
Slow arcs of how things are,
How they happen.
Seen, unseen, diverted, amalgamated.
Dawn chorus and the moments of frost.
Suspended breath, then
Light and song.
No more, nor no less
Than this.

—

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TALLIS EXULTANT

Golden moon rests
Upon a throne of low cloud.

All night long-
As bright as day.

Dawn shall not diminish her:
Sinking radiant
Into new lands.

A long music,
A choir of days.
Tallis exultant.

—

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