I dreamed there were thirteen treasures in Britain, Not the wealth of feudal kings, nor yet their power, No weapons of war, no tools for control. I saw the generous loom Taking but a small handful of threads To warm and clothe a humble back. The log that burns and yet remains. Come […]
Poetry
The Welsh Bardic Tradition (lecture audio)
Corridors
so accustomed to hospital corridors,
the creams, gentle blue, pale greens
that define and encompass my days,
the outside world, full of colour, no longer seems real
am i even here?
nothing is clear
the light and the cold and the roads I pass through
are only ways and directions to you
where you lay in your bed speaking strangely
muttering in distant places, one hand in another world
you passed through a door and don’t know it
I watched your determined and turbulent ride
you returned to this other side
i feel sorrow but never show it
you are not really here any more
my heart is an empty void
the well is too deep
i sit here beside you
not who I want to be
not hidden
but partially dead inside
– this waiting is killing me
Little Lamp – cute little story
This time when I turned on the lamp in the den it said “Hello”.
Imagine my surprise.
“Hello?” it said.
“Hello?” I called.
“Over here.” Said the lamp. I walked over and peaked under the white fringed shade.
“Do you mind removing this thing on my head?” asked the lamp.
I am losing my mind, I thought. Yet, obeyed.
“Ah, much better. What is your name?” the lamp asked in a lyrical little voice.
“John?” I said.
“You sound unsure.”
“I’m not sure what I’m sure about right this second.” I muttered. The lamp laughed and shined a little brighter.
“I understand. I am not being terribly fair. I know light cannot speak here. I came here from another place. I had to leave, you see.”
I looked around the room to see if anyone was watching before turning back to the lamp.
“Why did you have to leave?” I…
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not dying yet
full moon
high tides
she rides
she survives
her eyes have a twinkle
in touch with her stars
she smiles
and nods to her nurses
seeing their happy amazement
i wait for the turn of the moon
and the next step of her journey
Trust
Sitting beside her hospital bed,
Holding her hand as she sleeps,
I close my eyes for a moment,
Tired. Only tired.
Nothing keeps.
I must look as if I am praying.
I wonder if I should,
But before I frame the words,
The answer makes itself heard.
It’s up there, in the title.
It’s the magical word.
I know it.
I hear it all the time.
I submit. I accept.
I bow low.
I follow the path of the flow.
The Knight and the Kiss in the Magical Wood
The fairy tales tell of sleeping Princesses,
Awoken by valiant Princes.
All comes aright.
They live long and inherit the Kingdom.
All very predictable,
After so many tellings.
But what of the poor Knight,
So long lost in his constant vigil
And a quest that is never completed?
He thinks he is faced with defeat.
He lays down to sleep,
Alone in a wood,
His tired horse stands drooping beside him.
The things he most trusts,
His sword and his shield,
Are laid down to rust.
He denies them.
He has come to despise them.
The woods have a sparkle.
The dawns silvered shine has a twinkle.
The air sets the leaves all a-tremble.
Soft steps are parting the branches.
Wings like a butterfly flutter.
Larger than life they keep spreading,
Bowing, caressing, enfolding.
When the morning light comes,
Tender and bright,
The fresh morning dew has moistened his lips.
His eyes closed,
Deep in a dream,
He feels the touch of one sweet long kiss.
One kiss.
That’s all it takes.
It’s a kiss that strengthens,
A kiss that inspires,
A kiss that heals and sustains.
He has no more need of his armour.
Now he can arise
And become a true Knight.
Only a true kiss can do this.
Balancing
posted a year ago as an end of the year poem
such shadows come and fall on me
from joy to sorrow, like a switch
i fight to turn the light back on
i don’t know where the joy has gone
a single note in some old song
a word not said
a thought unwise
i try to see where i went wrong
the tender sweetness
on a breeze
can turn my heart
and make me freeze
and then i go and sit a while
and lean against a steady tree
and wait to smile again
and see
like the earth we reach for warmth
and the thirsty kiss of rain
all things in nature
are the same
it’s all a mirror of ourselves
dimmed and scratched
things unclear
and things not seen
this constant flow
of dark and light
is just the deep souls day and night
and the turning of the year
It’s simple
I can follow you down the tunnel
or wait for you at the end.
We can do it all over again.
There’s nothing we can’t mend.
It only takes understanding.
Above all, I’m your friend.
Above all, and below,
my soul will always know you,
wherever you may go.
That’s why I love you so.
Shakespeare ~ Sonnet 116 (here because it’s true)
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
The Dreaming Path 