Posted in Uncategorized, tagged ambience, art, blessing, bodhichitta, consciousness, image, landscape photography, light, metaphysics, moonlight, night, peace, Poetry, thought, transcendence on May 24, 2016| 2 Comments »
SWIMMING MOON
swimming moon
and floated in light
this sorrowful world
surrenders to peace
a few hours bathed clear
in blue shadowed silence
thought waters
white, rippled
reflecting one perfect smile
all will settle homewards,
belonging
never having left:
a moment only,
forgetting completion.
—
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged art, awareness, being, Cambrian Mountains, change, clouds, distance, Irvon Valley, landscape, landscape photography, light, photography, Poetry, purpose, Wales on April 23, 2016| 2 Comments »
Looking towards Carn Wen at evening.
To watch the pass
of light and dark
and how they each
shape these hills, this way and that,
is all I wish now to do.
we live, we die
as the distances reveal themselves
then vanish with the pass of a cloud.
if not to fill our time with beauty,
if not to see the world as it becomes us,
then what?
a flicker of pain, a flight upwards of joy
and the rolling of light in the valleys.
what other instruction
for a being of discernment?
what other lesson but this?
and to count the days
’til cuckoos and swallows.
and to keep to the constellations
of sheep and the openness
of lambs.
we shall end again soon enough.
peace is here
and it is sufficient for a whole universe.
and to watch the clouds pile
and drift at the setting sun.
and the smell of dew
on grass.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged art, bleak, Elan Valley, habit, landscape photography, light, Poetry, Prometheus (the arrogant), rain, river, storm, Wales, war, Winter on December 15, 2015| Leave a Comment »
SCRIBBLE RIVER
1
The trees bend low,
The hills, open, roar.
The world spins fast
On its way to war.
2
Drenched in
Their own silence.
The hills.
Made cool and
Winged to the sky.
3
Tongue numbed:
The eloquence
Of tumbled waters.
4
Wind harp in melancholy minor
Sweeps, weeps and fades
Across the roofs,
Through the forest.
5
A flint
Struck from verse.
Bright words
Fly splutter
In endless rain.
A breathing on the roof,
Laughter soft in the gutters.
To measure out a little time
Upon this place.
6
By here we wander
Sullied by reason
And the oldest of stories.
Chained and unchained,
Livers pecked-
Our own hungry ambition.
7
We, unbecoming all,
Scatter aimless,
True to undiscovered dream
And the whispers of the greedy dead.
8
Here they speak
One long river of words.
A thrush by the waterside
Cracks a snail on green grey rock.
—
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged art, black and white, drawing, gnomic verse, gold, light, Llym awel. landscape, Poetry, printmaking, Welsh ancient poems, Winter on November 14, 2015| 3 Comments »
LLYM AWEL verse 11(part2)
So we pass it round and drink
It round, drink the short day,
Block out the storm, the raging heart,
The dying, trembling roads.
All narrowed, tunnelled in,
The golden liquid cools the breath.
Tunnelled in, proud thunder,
A slap of light, a daybreak.
The circle of the fire:
A harbour, a warm twilight.
We turn inward, away from the wall.
The wild fields of weather
The clatter of cold, the fall of night.
It runs in circles
It runs between dark and light
It runs, unacknowledged, between the company.
Cold are the dark paths to night.
Cold are the long, twisting ways.
No peace in the restless bending treetops.
No rest in the sparkling sky worlds.
Time runs screaming, piercing the light.
All dawns, a false dawn.
A cup never refilled,
Bright the days
That drip and scatter.
The fires gutter and chill.
Senseless and forgetful we sleep,
The few hours of dulled grey,
The storm that is coming.
—
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged ancient gnomic verse, black and white, gold.art, ink drawing, landcscape, light, Llym awel, Poetry, printmakingl, Welsh poetry, Winter on November 10, 2015| Leave a Comment »
LLYM AWEL verse 11( part 1)
Eurtirn am corn, cirn am cluir;
Oer llyri, lluchedic auir;
Bir diwedit, blaen gvit gvir.
“Gold rims about the horn, the horn around the company;
Cold are the paths, full of lightning the sky;
Short is the evening, the tops of the trees are bent.”
Gold runs about its rim,
The horn is passed around the company.
Gold at the edges of the dark day,
Gold tasted on the tongue,
The tongue held silent.
Tangled are the paths and cold they are.
The circle of gold is eloquent but thin,
Shared, passed around, not owned by any.
The short round days.
Fire quenched and bent,
Should have been for the gods only-
As if we could have ever held lightning,
As if we could have gazed unblinking,
Unblinded by its sudden light.
It will burn all who yearn for it,
Burn them black and hollow.
Cold dust they will blow tree-high,
Forgotten, lost in name, one of many,
The bending boughs will mourn.
—
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged art, cliff, landscape photography, light, monutain, Poetry, Snowdonia, Wales on October 11, 2015| Leave a Comment »
sorrow mountain
sorrow mountain
its dark weight
rain wet,
peopled with sunlight.
where purple cliff relents:
green heaped meadows,
hawthorn amid sheep.
such light is distant
a rolling soil
held down by boulders.
endless are the empty paths
upon its heaped up head.
pressed and rich as butter
the pastures bedded.
the silent road
a blink in daylight
lost around dusted corners.
we move on
silently from above
where the sky’s eye
waters a tragic blue.
—
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, 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, atmospheres, being, black and white, cloud, evolution, ink and print, light, lightness, metaphysics, mist, photography, Poetry, stratospheres, thought, transcendence, vapour on July 20, 2015| 2 Comments »
THE VAPOURS OF HEAVEN
Shall they stray far,
These wandered thoughts,
Drenched with the vapours of heaven?
Shall they, distilled, sublimate,
Take new form, grow winged
Then smiling, dissolve?
Shall they, folded,
Nest upon timeless light.
Sleep, and wake golden,
Luminous, singing?
Shall they, without surcease,
Dance eternal energies,
Still named, at home
On vast, breathing cascades
Of space?
Shall they, (these thoughts),
Turn swallows, spin as swifts,
Light as thistledown, rise
Like willowherb, weightless,
A drift in summer,
A slow gentle breeze
Bird-filled?
Shall they stretch, sprout nerves,
Become sensible, grow good souls
With new names, find mouths
And lips and tongue
And sing their own song?
The vapours of heaven:
A saffron casket, rainbow-locked.
Small whispered bells,
Honey-lipped bees.
A sky stretched
To blue transparency.
A tent with purpose,
An unseen sea,
Scaled skin of cloud.
In amongst and between,
Within cloud and moving mists,
Droplets suspended awaiting surface:
To acquire direction, to know gravity,
To locate tidal choirs.
It is all music, all music,
Nothing but song.
These images are taken from a series of ink drawings, scanned and photographically enlarged to reveal strange details. The revealing of other structures formed a parallel word stream imagining thought/word becoming sentient of themselves, hence the text, as one possible accompaniment to the images. (Other possibilities included star names or quotes from the works of John Dee). Some of the images are pixelating because of extreme enlargement, so these I may remake as pencil drawings…
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged cold, February, Imbolc, landscape, light, Poetry, quarter day, Wales, Winter on February 2, 2015| 2 Comments »
Imbolc Eve
The barking of dogs.
Hills white as sheep, as arched, as silent.
God’s simple smile is the morning sun.
A full moon pregnant with light, last night,
And always the river and a promise of birdsong.
The red dogwood, the orange willow
All blameless and bright.
We shall see, it seems, another Spring
Lean by the fireside, thin in the frosted mornings.
Shivered water, vacant sky.
Day begins with dusk, a folding in of light.
Sheltered in byre and sleep.
A new breath in before a sigh and singing white.
Dry old pine cracks and roars.
We must wait a while for bones to warm.
Faces searched for, no longer seen,
Lost along the long stretched roads.
Thin is the light, pale as primrose.
—
simonhlilly 