Posts Tagged ‘sun’

Meadowsweet, meadowsweet,
The sky is white
With heat.

White bindweed, pink bindweed,
The distant road

Pale grass, pale grasses,
Seed pods golden,

In shade of yew,
In shade of cedar,
Small flies are bobbing
Up and down,

Like fishes in cool water,
Like fishes in cool water.


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So it is settled:
Cupped, hammocked
In golden hay fields,

The sun
Of this northern land
Free, for a week or two,
To proudly swell
In still, blue skies.

To warm brick and path
Long past sunset.
To pull trees starwards
In deep green shade,
Sheened with dust.

Nestled, the violet mallow
In golden grasses.
Nestled, the purple knapweed
Along the pasture edge.

The hedgerow elm,
Two years dead,
Swathed lush in ivy,
Crowned, adorned
In arcs of wild rose.

Life rushes in
Dressing old wounds:
White yarrow, pink yarrow.
Sudden sweet drift-
Overwhelmed by honeysuckle.
The fingers, white fingers
Of bindweed count the days.
Swallows sigh happy
Swinging high in evening.

It is a time of tasting,
Of breathing.

There is music,
There is silence,
I can find no difference.

There is one second,
There is the next,
Tell me, if you can,
Which is more perfect?


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How Still

How still
The lashes of your eyes
Searching words
How still

How long
The slow rise of your breath
Searching peace
How long

How fine
The enamelled morning
Blue, shadowed
How fine

How light
The dive of swallows
above buttercup shine
How light

How still, how long
How fine, how light,
This filigree life
Floating skywards

Well, a thanks to Marie Marshall, whose words this morning fed this little thing, sort of summing up the morning sun here, before the clouds pile up and wind carries in rain… ( if I can put in a link to the original I will, not that it’s difficult but I am all at sea with invisible machinery).


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2nd May: Flow of Time

Finger of light
Twitches the curtains
Warm cat purs

Floating free
It takes a deep breath
Rising sun

Without doing,
Everything changes.
Time’s river

One or two moments.
Fast river Time.

Where is the small leaf of hope
I floated on that river?

Stay busy
So as not to notice
The speed of time.

No need to watch.
Sheep grazing
Feel the sun rise.

Catching breath.
No time to waste
Already gone

Accumulating merit
Then letting it go
Doing this, doing that

Morning sun
Now too bright.
Turning my gaze:
Waning moon

Sun and moon
Floating along
River of time

Where are they now?
All those plans floating.
River of time.

Caught sight of
One last time:
Small blossom.
Bend of the river

Somehow the same:
This thought
This river

One moment
Recorded forever,

Whether to go up the lane
Or down the lane.
Cat sitting in the sun.

To see all the pattern,
Break the pot.
Now the pattern,
Where is the pot?

Tune of an ancient chant.
Searching the words
That fit

Ordinary moments
In case
They never happen

Thoughts, silence.
The sound of sheep
Munching new grass.

Slowly moving uphill
Into sunlight
Sheep nonchalantly drifting by

Choosing one,
All the others scatter:
Philosophical thoughts.

Should they never come again.
Collecting moments.
Mind fuel.

Fishing for words
The hours flow by.
But look what I have caught!

Small bright things:
Minnow moments.
I will return them to the stream
In just a moment

Not just words
Ripple outwards.


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Sun, becoming burnished, cherry red,
Rolls up that hill,
A golden road to golden day.

This is our land, none better
For our long days,
As days stretch and darkness glistens.
A rich land for rich hearts.

We rise upon our high, green seats,
Our green thrones, rise towards the sky,
Lifting the land, a cloak, a wing, a song.

This vast curve of life:
A shield against all dismay,
A pool, heaven reflecting.

Islands arise from the morning,
Hearth fires radiate into the dusk.
This is our birth,
Rolling up the glorious hills.


I forgot about this one that I scribbled down a few days ago as dawn came up.
The Votadini were a tribe inhabiting South East Scotland up to the Firth of Forth, present day Borders and Lothian regions.
Their territory is characterised by big hilltop enclosures with large walls and banks ,(examples are Eildon Seat, Yeavering Bell and Trepain Law in East Lothian, which was probably their primary seat until it moved to Dun Eidyn (Edinburgh) in the 5th century).
The name probably means ‘fort dwellers’, though has also been interpreted as ‘those of the wide places’. Their name becomes transformed into the Early Medieval British kingdom/confederacy Gododdin ( ‘w’ sounds change to ‘gu’ in many Celtic tongues), well-known for the Welsh/British poem that records the disastrous defeat they suffered at the Battle of Catterick.

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For this
one instant
A radiant pink
Squeezed and bright
Between hill and cloudbank.
Set round and sure
In circled gold
Dawn sun

On the back of my eye
First flash of morning sun
Dazzles still.

Turning around
First flash of sun
Drives out thought.

Small promise
A moment of radiance
Before clouds close in.

It is the colour
Of heated silver
In a burnished silver sky,
Warm and cold balanced both
Tasting equinox.

A claddagh ring
This dawn:
Heart sun
Held safe
in year’s
Two hands.

Promising spring
Dawn soon waylaid
A party of snowclouds.

A party of snowclouds
Cautious at first
Racing drunk and wild
Across neat fields.

Across neat fields
Light sparkles on dewfall.
Birds chasing each other
Pause a moment.
Spring dance.

Spring dance.
Changing partners
Their feet flattening daffodils,
A whirl of wind and hail.

A whirl of wind and hail
Is the news from the north.
All is silent in the garden.

All is silent in the garden
Dawn sun has vanished
within the daffodils’ trumpets.

Deep within the daffodils’ trumpets
Is the sound of spring to come
A bright fanfare.

I cannot describe
The colour of the dawn sun,
But perhaps
A blush of fire,
Burnished warm
By the fingertips
Of infinite patience.
Smoothed glow,
Delicate, cherished.

Sun hidden.
Collecting firewood.
The hearth
Still our closest companion.

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We are adrift in sunshine and birdsong.

The green fields turning golden hay.

Grandchildren like chirping sparrows.

Fresh breeze from the hills.

Nothing to report,
Lost in time and space……


Basho by the pond.

He turns to listen:
The sound
Of one hand

(Some more words scribbled down from my diary. It’s been a busy summer. Just recently missed a great flurry of strong words. It’s so important to write when those times arise, as the fuel that fires the flow is soon consumed..)


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Dissolving, dissolving into light.

On a day such as today,
Filled with sunlight
And drifting gently
Into May-time,
If choice were
To be given,
If choice were possible,

On such a day
Would I choose
To melt away
To relax and let go
To return to stillness.

Eyes closed
In a garden,
Slowly breathing
the fragrance
Of lilac.

Thoughts floating
Between the spinning
Hum of bees,
The sweet song
Of blackbirds,

With no more desires,
No more questions.
Happy to turn away
Free from yearning,
Free from regret.

Descending into sleep,
As when a child,
To the sounds
Of other gardens
Other birdsong
Other laughter.

Turning to dust,
Dissolving into light.
Nothing to remember.

A quiet day of April peace,
Nothing remarkable,
An old man
Sleeping in the sun.

Into the evening-

The first stars
Of a perfect
blue day.


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