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Posts Tagged ‘nature’

DHRUPAD 22 (empty)

Empty,

emptied the skies,

unwoven by soaring diving swallows suddenly not there

suddenly silent as the still silvered edged trees,

dusted time-dusted, picked out in the

more slanted light suddenly now.

The clouds pouring in now pouring in the winds.

Still warm the sun still warm

though the nights grow cool now.

The days are set,

the days are settled,

they nestle down on quietened fields

in the quiet ripening

fields where the slow pheasants pause

and pick and move on.

There will be the

wheeling words of red kites soon and buzzards soon

their own spells their own

summoning autumn songs

high in the blue and dazzling dazzling heights of

tumbled skies

and the grain nodding heavy

and the hazels winking

and the ash

trees longing to let go,

to let go.

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SUMMER RIVER

Golden edged

Summer river

Rocks cooling their toes.

Golden river

Summer gnats

All diminuendo

Cooling their old bones

Grey worn rocks in summer heat

Squatting in midstream

Soft summer rivers

Water folding up sunlight

Shoals of darting fish

High summer

We see them gather

To cool their feet:

These venerable rocks

Dreaming in the slow waters

Time flows silent

By the river side

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Tree spell ritual

The world breathes through me

and I am full of trees.

Silent teachers fill the silence;

Patterns dance at the surfaces of light.

Through doorways I dissolve

And am reborn with bones of truth.

Made whole and healed with cloaks of song.

Anchored, rooted, nurtured, sustained.

Harmlessly unfurled, patiently watching.

I am full of trees, dreamed by trees.

Ruthlessly harmless, sustained in emptiness.

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The Doors of Midsummer

A breath of cloud moves east across Y Garn’s face.

Words are as scarce as swallows in a cold summer.

Anyway, anyway, they only grow from dream to tangled lie,

flowering like the bindweed covering all beneath,

Weighing down, weighing down until nothing else remains.

The doors have opened in every hill,

An invitation to join the dance and summer’s feast.

But we are taught to doubt generosity,

To look for the trap in openness and goodness

(nothing is true that comes so free and easy).

River and clouds are the rulers of this world

and they move on in their own time, unbidden.

Tune to a key that sings of endlessness, even though

no one here knows anything of that song.

For emotion is born from time and loss:

In timeless halls is no such thing.

No such thing but endless dance and bliss.

If the summer never ends

It will be a hard winter, here.

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Fuji

FUJI (wisteria)

By the cottages of Penrhos,

Letting the warm wall take its weight.

Resting on the earth like a mountain does.

Leaning gnarled, an old man supports himself.

When time comes, his tongue flowers

Eloquent strings of song,

After the frosts have gone

And before the long rains.

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THE HEDGES

The hedges hawthorn foam.

Precise time ceased and waiting.

A mist to smudge everything not near.

And a blue cool watchfulness

Before slow, large drops of rain.

Hills, and hills behind the hills, we see.

Hills and hills in the heart of the land.

Inch by inch they choose green

Over wan winter brown.

Inch by inch they swell and sing

Sated with descending arcs of summer stars

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Rain over the hills, light in the valley.

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SMALL THINGS

To die on a winter’s night
And know that your last breath
Will be eaten by a million
Cold and hungry stars.

These flakes of furred life
Curled around their small souls
Encircled by great horizons
That ever suck the warmth
From fast-beating hearts.

No hardship, though, in letting go.
In leaving the fury, in leaving
The dawn cold to other hunters
And the sharp songs in bare branches
And the sharp eyes longing to peck.

To need no need now, to rise and fly,
To become incorporeal, incorporated
In the memory of an ever-loving world,
The blanketed round and sweet murmured world.

_

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