Posts Tagged ‘rainbows’


(Three great stones upturned, strange, wriggling things beneath them)

Bright Browed

The truth is a severed head
telling tales to the mesmerised
survivors of a world disappearing.
As simple as it is, it cannot be circumscribed
by any answer.
The bright sun rises on a land, still with frost.
Over the horizon night falls and the
white winged soul of owls hunt glimmering,
and the children whimper in their swaddled sleep,
the dogs by the fireside and the dancing shadows.
Dawn is a spark that burns what went before.
The river is a crooked woman dancing on shivering hips.
We become bright-browed and ancient,
shunned and out of step, the harmony misunderstood.

Ssh! Pass it on!

The wise, as ever, steal their wisdom from the lips of others.
Too smart, they exult in escape from the banal.
Too fast, they run from the slow lurch of time.
Too full, they shrink and burst leaving nothing to itself.
The mouth is a cauldron cooking the unsayable,
bringing to life the exposed silent ones,
the cloaked, watching, single-eyed ones.
It does not say and need not say:
the seed we have become will die for the tree to live.
For the tree to live the seed is forgotten.
Turn around, this is not yours ( nor ever was).
Perfect, you must dissolve into one thought.
the one never before, the one pillar that upholds the sky,
the silver-headed beast, the clutch and shudder of love,
and know its name, and know when it was born, and for what purpose.
And never, ever, ever, say.


The bard’s mouth is a cauldron that cooks the food of heroes,
That will not suffer the fame of fools.
It will bring the dead to life, though they can never speak for themselves.
It will feed all, no matter how great the host.
It will wriggle endlessly through time
But will never escape the timeless, spiral woman who turns into herself.
It will come out of the sea. It is the way to within and without.
What is not yours , you will come to love,
If you are wise.
A war of words clothing naked souls.

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Passionate lovers,
These winter and spring days.
March and April,
How they so
Tear at each other, caress
With smiles,
Fall together,
Push apart, preen,
Rush oblivion and break
As waves at high tide
On each other’s panting flesh.
Seeds dashed,
Rainbows unfurl,
Sudden sun, dark squall,
A mating in time and space,
Conjunction of contraries.

Moon worn thin
High north wind
Spring thaw.

Half a moon
Ice in the river
Slowly melting.

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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.

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)

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.

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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