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Posts Tagged ‘spring’

DHRUPAD 23 (green)

Look now green green now.

Even green in the hills, the high cold hills

with their hearts of stone, sniff the green the tips of bracken there

amongst the old debris pink and brown,

so many cold nights

and winds and slow days of so slow heavy rain.

By the thin rivers and

the fast streams the sedges green and growing

that were hog bristle brown, dead and belligerent and wan wan wan.

And even

the clouds even the clouds

so low and slow and fast, tinged now with

a certain green a certain glow a reflected green, a green smile the world

knows

once frosts are gone and the larger days and the cowslips

foaming over the roadsides in drooping cream bee buzzing delight

now.

The pink grey empty slopes over Aberedw peppered

all peppered with hawthorn white and creamly perching there,

a crown for each moment each outcrop tonguing scented air

pert as hounds bright eyed and keen for sunlight warm and honey

smooth.

A green green breakfast it is now

for the hungry hills,

the hungry hills.

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Harnessed in silence
It shall fold itself
Back into the morning.

Voiceless, comforted
Into the cool slow sunlight
And the mist by the singing river.

It shall be polished with ashes,
Burnished by breath.

And we can not help but die,
But that is not the problem.
Says the breeze in the pines,
The breeze in the chapel pines.

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DHRUPAD 21 : blackthorn spring

There was a song one morning in front of, behind, deep down,
my eyes opening, open eyes and still dreaming,
dreaming words and rivers a song of a song of a Spring song
of a blackthorn Spring,
song of a blackthorn song a dream song slow and fast and glorious.
An opening song a Spring song, a blackthorn white froth cool wave
warm sun song
a sudden slow here it is song
snow in sunlight not melting but blooming warm snow song
settling in sunlight song song.
On black branches along the roads
a sprinkled silk fine tight bound waiting waiting
for bursting out when the air melts and colour, colour colour,
to remind us of winter gone to remind us of flowering to remind us of sweetness and bitterness to remind us of beauty within it all
beauty within us all, silence and beauty dressed in white and waiting.
A heaven full of spirits here and now,
in this bowl in this valley in this horizon.
Leave them be, these fields of dreaming, leave them be and laugh.
A fragile bursting foam aflood in the warm valley side
not in the hills yet not in the hills but here and there in the flash of sun
or how then now then it is not sun
not sun but sallow sallow
by the river valleys orbed golden and mist green and shining gold sallow
in seas of light dipped and tasted and diving down
to find the old beauty the ringing song.
Sallow willow sweet willow goat willow great sallow
dipped rooted down to water and bursting gold
peeled back and shooting gold in misted blues
the long miles of blue and haze and mild shadow furred and generous. Blackthorn and sallow
sun and snow sun and snow
a year song long
and remembering these notes
this tune
this dream
a year
song.

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Light-hammered days.
Green burnished boughs.
Always this beginning
Scoured by cold winds.
Here and gone before we know it.
Birdsong too intricate to remember –
This woven life
With subtlest changes,
The dream repeats.
Though you might wish it,
There are no lessons to learn.
All the stories, a foam of blackthorn,
Blossoming suddenly everywhere.
Taste this now, it will soon be gone.
Gone to return, a somewhat different song,
Called out from another valley,
A little nearer, a little farther off.

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SPRING SCATTER (haiku-ish)

Moon as bright as morning
burnished by a cold wind.
Mountain river white as clouds.

Floating mountain.
Two crows.
Spring sun melts frost.

Cold wind.
Bright sunlit air.
These blackthorn days:
Tumbled jewels.

Along the lanes,
blackthorn blossom.
On the high hills:
the bones of the snow.

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EXTRACTING BEAUTY FROM ENDLESS SORROWS

A fine Spring day
(though only a city-dweller
would believe that winter is over).
The thrush is singing
in the chapel pines
and on the hills
the thud of bombs.
A woodpecker is drilling
in the valley,
(or is it machine guns
over the ridge?)

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DHRUPAD 5 (bluebells)

Shimmers so
there,
unlikely unsky
sky,
woven down by green air
in the water washed wood
and the cherry sound
of chiffchaff chiffchaff,
chaffinch, twig twitter song.
Glory, glory, the deepest blue but not,
but violet but not,
but smudged heaven taste beyond eyes,
cell washed deep sound,
a sound even lying on it all,
lying across it all.
A sky blanket sun dipped.
Kingfisher blue, as if,
sudden flash blue, as if,
floating violet pink haze blue.
There
not there.
In passing flicker flicker from
a deep seen somewhere else,
from a silent safe mind springing up
with smiles.
Language unwrapped,
unfolded, spread open,
smoothed
there now, there now,
sun at last
sun at last,
sun, at last!
we shall push on push up
take colour become
come ring sound
and swing down singing
down the slopes,
a tumble bells sighing sound,
swaying dance a deeper dance,
down down the deeper sky,
sunless starless moonless,
a sea sky
footsteps
footsteps
the wooded
wooded
bluebell
way.

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