Posted in Uncategorized, tagged art, change, consciousness, landscape photography, metaphysics, nature, Poetry, roses, time, transformation, Wales on March 25, 2022| 2 Comments »
THE ROSES
The roses
They have been in bud
For months
Through sun and rain.
Now they open,
Bloom for a day or two
Giving joy to all,
Then fade and
Fall apart.
The roses.
The roses.
They throw off their beauty
Like dancers.
They value more
Their roots
And their thorns.
The blood red hips,
The hard won strength
To go on.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dhrupad, landscape, music, nature, nature photography, photography, Poetry, roses, summer solstice, Wales on June 21, 2018| Leave a Comment »
DHRUPAD 9 (solstice roses)
Solstice roses solstice rain
bright as sparrows
solstice cloud low bright
and sparkling rain.
Field roses, wild roses, dog roses,
solstice roses bloom fall fail
arching sun-like arching star-like
arching dancing leaping hedgerows.
Field roses white as cotton dresses
in sunlight fields in sunlight wind in solstice fields
light as cotton white as summer
blooming falling failing blooming.
And dog roses pink and frail and strong
as sacred as secret pink flesh
blushing pink curling pink scented and smiled and honey sweet
and stroked in light and solstice solstice light,
bloom and leap and arch and fall and fail.
Tattered heavy petal fall
weighed and washed bright solstice rain.
White as sheep new shorn, white as blisters,
white as taste in morning air,
white as solstice fall and failing falling failing,
flocking leaping solstice roses arching out
and arching over and petal falling petal failing pale as butter,
bright as eyelids, bitter smiling falling
failing blooming failing falling
solstice roses wild roses dog roses field roses,
thorned and throned and holding on,
leaping arching bowing blessing
bowers sprinkled white and pink
glorious as sheep in the morning solstice,
morning sparrow hedgerow morning,
rain wet wind and sparkling solstice morning.
—
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged evening, light, Poetry, quietness, roses on July 12, 2017| 4 Comments »
Over northern hills ink clouds stain a perfect blue.
They grow dark and slow as the sorrows of others.
The full moon, a young girl in love glowing golden, illuminates all.
Roses dip on warm, motionless thought.
The way the seconds talk, the way the night settles deeper into itself
As if there were nothing else.
The way light turns purple, and the birth of stars.
This house, this little house creaks, its clocks tick on.
One or two slow flies spin the edge of rooms.
Little cat settles at the window; her white paws.
Words disappear.
—
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged clouds, Devon, Haiku-ish, hedgerow, lanscape, Poetry, roses, summer, sunlight, warm on June 27, 2013| 10 Comments »
THESE MOMENTS.
Hemlock
Clouds the hedge banks.
Light
Is high, a heaviness
And a stillness.
Slow air
Collecting summer,
A weight of green.
Pillow clouds
This light rests upon:
Grey and silver.
Content
To remain a veil.
The dry earth,
Warm and pale.
Nodding roses,
Damask scented.
—
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged awareness, dream, garden, habits, Haiku, impressionist, landscape, lines of intent, nature, nerve pathways, persona, rain, roles, roses, sparrows, streets, symbolist on June 11, 2013| 2 Comments »
JUNE RAINS (haiku/haibun cycle)
Sudden gust of wind.
Rain-wet face.
These grey, empty streets.
These grey, empty streets:
I do not know their names.
They do not know mine.
A dream in cold dawn.
Too many words attached to memory. A posy of complaint, shades of all the colours of melancholy. Cast down, forgotten, they shall dissolve, mulch for future centuries. Beautiful air locating magical symbols. A play with syllabic sweetness, a river of sanity too far to touch.
A dream in cold dawn.
Somehow choosing a role
No-one else will have.
Is there a moment, a time, when each one of us decides our degree of visibility? Do we slip, collecting the well-worn clothes of a vacant consciousness, into comforting roles, familiar, mapped out? And so they adhere, become so owned. The first and the last in the queue. The sensible one, the designated driver, the quiet one, the strange one.
No-one else is here.
Squabbling sparrows
Scattering blossoms.
Rain-wet garden.
The colours have swiftly changed from the brightness of May to the weighed greens of June. Elder blossom is the punctuation, and the delicate scatter of wild roses. The bindweed curls, the honeysuckle prepares its longing fingers. The sun breeds cloud, sucks moisture and breathes storm.
No-one else will know
This one silent moment.
Rain wet garden.
Rain-wet garden
Flowers weighed down.
Unavoidable sorrow.
Unavoidable sorrow.
Thoughts falter.
The low-slung cry of swallows.
Low-slung cry of swallows
Steady rain
Strange emptiness.
Strange emptiness
Fills with peace.
Scent of wild roses.
Scent of wild roses:
Though they bend and weep
They know this rain a blessing.
—–
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Haiku, Poetry, rain, roses, senses, summer on August 16, 2012| Leave a Comment »
Summer path
—-
Clouds bloom , air cools.
One drop, then two.
Sudden scent of roses
—–
simonhlilly 