The Circle

I look to the East at the sunrise
and the day, shining, awake,
the dew falls on the grass
I think of all  we can make

I look to the South for warmth
where fire burns and renews
and the noon of day and completion of youth
and my heart opens, eager for truth

To the North I look to the sky
and the pattern of stars in the dark
seeing the light that shines, long after they’re dead,
from one strong kindling spark

I look to the West and the rivers that flow
remembering the salmons leap
and have faith in all we can do
and all of life’s treasures we keep

as the wheel turns and turns again
the centre remains ever still
one fixed point that sustains us all
to do whatever we will

I stand at the centre at last
to feel my own soul and know
that future, present and past
are all a repeating flow

I stand at the heart of a circle
my heart warmed by the sun
aware of the world that’s around me
beginning and end are all one

and where many circles overlap
and all of them intertwine
a wondrous, eternal flower is formed
of all the worlds souls, and mine

The Trees are Divine

Once every people in the world believed that trees were divine, and could take a human or grotesque shape and dance among the shadows; and that deer, and ravens and foxes, and wolves and bears, and clouds and pools, almost all things under the sun and moon, and the sun and moon, were not less divine and changeable. They saw in the rainbow the still-bent bow of a god thrown down in his negligence; they heard in the thunder the sound of his beaten water jar, or the tumult of his chariot wheels; and when a sudden flight of wild ducks, or of crows, passed over their heads, they thought they were gazing at the dead hastening to their rest….(W B Yeats)

and who has ever proven that this is not so????? how much, and on what levels, do we actually see – and the world would certainly be a better place if the trees were held sacred again. We have been told that ‘dreaming’ and using imagination are lesser than thought and action and making ‘progress’ and that’s where we went wrong. It’s that old battle between the Romantics and the Age of Reason – I know whose side I have always been on but a balance of the two would work too. Lets use imagination and common sense – what a wonderful combination that is !

Cheating Fool

a man is a fool when he thinks he can master
with lies, false semblance and trickery
the hearts of many women
he fails to hear all their sisterly whispers
behind closed doors and windows

a man is a fool when he thinks he can master
the hearts of a harem of women
self-deluded by his own shallow charms
he will find he is on a lonely old path
and his harm will be to himself

a man is a fool if he thinks he can master
the minds of many women
the sadness in this is the innocent hurt
those poor girls in love with a fool
may he drown in a pool of their tears

a man is a fool when he thinks he can master
many women on one hidden leash
the days will come, again and again,
when he ties himself up, in a tangled rope,
to finally hang his own soul on a tree
and swing in a sorry wind

Sorrow

the dark is full of shining stars
the moon will fade tomorrow

the morning sun is coming up
these things are sure as turning fate
but i can only sit and wait
the night will surely follow

the house is there but we are not
no fire burns within the grate
now the hour is growing late
home and my heart are hollow

no matter how the birds may sing
I sit here full of sorrow

Swans

 

ph-10795

 

the clouded sunlight through the trees

casts shadows, stilled, across  the  lake

the silvered white of floating swans

shines out against the gathered gloom

eyes that shed slow tears  recover

with beauty there,  to rest upon

 

swan

 

Bank Holiday Blues

Bank Holiday gloom seeps into the room
from a flat sky, full of grey light,
pressed to the glass of the window
three days of no brightness
changes the view
this hollow whiteness
deadens the day
the sounds become softer
the memories harder
of all that is vanished away

When I am Old (revised)

Dedicated to my Mother ~

 

when i am old i wont do anything
but think
and run my life back and forward
in my mind
in translucent back-lit visions

the trek to the kitchen and back
a long journey
re-gaining at last the armchair
i sleep
to dream dreams of the long gone

i will develop a liking for jelly and custard
milk pudding
soup from a can and cheese with jam
cream cakes
and forget what i meant to have for breakfast

the taps will drip, the fire will burn cold
windows rattle
and the mice will move in unafraid
as company
and eat the fabrics to tatters

I will confuse the books i have read
with memories
i will see the ghosts of my family
standing by
and wonder if they wait for me in the night

I wont care about any of this
watching light
watching shadows move across the walls
distant birds
i will ignore all bad news and live in imagination

drifting back to childhood again
so clear
with all my family gathered around
the dead ones
now is just a space between sleeping and waking

 

The Grove has a new tree

I have updated my post about the Garden Grove because I was given a Wild Service Tree today. This tree was grown from seed from a tree in an ancient woodland in Gloucestershire.

There are more details about the history of the tree on the Garden Grove posting.