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Posts Tagged ‘rain’

RISING, RETURNING

Rising through mist and rust and gold.

The rain coming and going and the oaks holding on.

History repeating itself, as it always does,

And the eternal poets weeping and laughing

In their sunlit words.

We shall reach home soon, as we always do,

Until the very last time when time shall slow and stop,

And the oaks, only, will be holding on then

In rust and gold and sunlit drifts.

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RAAG MEGH

find the

slow rituals

that absorb time and space.

.

there is

no hurry,

words vanish, yet

last forever, somehow.

.

the green, warm rains

as soothing as music, fill

the breathing valley.

.

one step

is all it takes

to start a dance

no-one has seen before.

.

we will, for sure,

be swept up in

sadness and joy.

.

we will, for sure,

be persuaded that beauty

is just not enough.

.

slow air pushes

the thin rope of smoke

to and fro by the window.

veils of rain hide the hills.

.

it is green and cool and lovely,

the trees say.

look at our slow dance,

they say.

.

and let go

their tired leaves.

Raag megh is a pentatonic raag (raga) played during the rainy season, but because of its cooling, calming influence is also played at any time and circumstance. i used it as the name of this poem as it seemed to fit its atmosphere and mood. Check out raag megh on youtube, especially those by ustad rashid khan, pandit jasraj and kushal dass.

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THE LOVELY RAIN

The lovely rain –

Its breath is music

In the chapel pines.

.

What we have left

Of what is done

Is debris.

.

The lovely rain.

Chapel pines hum,

Eyes closed and swaying.

Cool is the air.

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.

STORM WIND

.

We cannot outrun the storm wind

We cannot outrun the rain.

.

Between the lines appear the shapes of other letters.

.

The moment the tongue finds a shape to express a feeling.

The moment the feeling swells, a flower

Of song blossoms out.

.

We cannot outrun the swollen river

We cannot outrun the racing cloud.

.

Every thread laid and lost within the weave.

To hold one thought, just one,

When the roaring chord that rocks the pines

Sweeps the world away in ragged tatters.

.

We cannot outrun the world of sorrow

We cannot outrun this tide of time.

.

The meaning here

Is not the meaning

We seek.

.

We cannot outrun the storm mind

We cannot outrun the candle’s shadow.

.

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WINTER’S PATH

Bleak wish is winter’s path.

The flat of its grey blade

Knocks us senseless.

Long months, we huddle

Half dreaming here.

Things will return to how they were,

Is a truth and a lie.

Though there are those

That shall never know.

The long wind has died down now.

The river’s roar returns to whisper.

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DHRUPAD 24 (New Year) 10.1.2020

Slow, slow now, slow time uncertain

Slow as honey slow it is unfolded

The paths untrod, the ways clouded

The roads silver, the roads brown

The roads puddled poured into the hills.

The days slow, unnumbered

The days unencumbered, weighed in

Silence. Slow slow the revolutions

Of the red kite, the wheeling, returning

Circling in slow light in slow light

And the sun low and slow looking

Looking for a new name a new name,

And the air leafless, the land leafless

Something something on the tip of its tongue

A new name, a new name, a path

A new way and the small birds brown

And the small birds red and blue and brown

Pecking looking for a new name.

And all the dreams a-slumber

And all the days a-slumber

And all the seeds and the leafless air

And the falling rain dreaming and sleeping

A small new name, a new name

And the sparrows shuffling in the eaves

And the gutter rivers singing, chanting

Murmuring, whispering, breathing, sighing

A new name a new name. Slow, slow the days

Slow the days now, time as thick as honey drips

Pools and falls and collects time taking shape

Shape taking space space taking voice voice

Murmuring a dream here, a dream here a new

Name a new name a name a new name, slow.

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DAY DISSOLVING

Falling waters,

thread white,

tumbling.

.

from that small distance,

the wheeling raven,

soundless.

.

So woven together

are the layers of the day:

a plaid of wind ripples the lake surface,

as if it were about to say something.

.

we shall dissolve

from light

into light.

.

slowly, slowly

down the side of Y Garn

roll clouds

mixed with sunlight.

.

the view

slides sideways

and is erased.

there is a new silence

that comes

just before the rain.

.

this season-

a balance point

clustered at branch tips.

.

we shall dissolve

from light

into light.

.

on dark smudged slopes,

the shout

of purple heathers.

a scree of broken moments,

small enough

to commit to memory.

.

falling waters

woven together.

moments such as these

make and melt worlds.

.

we shall dissolve

from light

into light.

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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.

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DHRUPAD 17 (November greys)

I would
should like to
for it wells up to paint with words
of rain discrete and with purpose they drop
sound and dissipate they spell grey in all colours
like the wind does as it moves through in ripples and time
too ripples in and out the focus of each of us each of us here and there
discrete and dissipating to grey reflection a scattering in consonants
and the vowels of the wind they are our ghosts and our
conscience there are words words and advice
and warning and weeping and dreaming
in the simmering of small sounds
as the fire ticks and there
is a tune there is a tune
in the fire or or
between the fire and the ears
in the spaces of a quiet room with this view
out to greys all greys of all colours in the peaceful day
of it and the silver leaf and the golden leaf rattling and letting go
leaving the picture leaving on each move rippling silence anchor deep
anchor deep in the high waves of grey cloud painted in words of wind and lacking edge
blurring light and tumbled mind lost in near distance adrift in rain sound
and the kiss of wind to bring you back a kiss of wind and the fire’s crack.
To bring you back, wrapped all colours of grey rain words wind
words fire words cloud words breath breath grey
and tumbling mind rain thoughts
falling shaped then mirroring
mirror greys there not there
clear not clear
wind then
not wind.
To paint with words
and watch the rain words
fall and fall apart.
Mirrors, we watch
neither there nor between.
Amongst the rain
mind wind
fire greys
waves
of day.

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GYLFINIR

(The Curlew)

cool morning.
clouds rise.
the curlew calls.
sunlit
is the new horizon.

damp grasses –
fresh green.
sheep in the fields
curlew on the hill.

inner light.
sun slips through
before the rain.
a distant curlew calls.

melancholy joy.
a pause in the rain.
the curlew’s descending call.

perhaps we shall
be forgiven
perhaps, forgotten:
cuckoo and
curlew
in the empty wood,
the flowering field.
sunlight and
shade
on the distant
mountain.

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