I am
Granite
Moss
Grain
Ocean
River
Rain
Hacked and carved
from blue grey granite
cloaked and cushioned in moss
the deep dug roots of twisted trees
reach down in the dark of my bones
ocean air bends branches down
clutching at my hair,
but still, I am not there.
Aware of the flow of rivers,
the wide slow curve of the river,
through green and rolling hills,
I am swept away to another place
to rest in fields of grain.
My spirit wanders far from home.
I fall in summer rain
On my TV screen I watch a real time bus journey through green rolling hills. It’s so long since I saw a wide open field. I am jealous of all the passengers, though they ride around in a box.
in my silent room
here’s how the zoo lion lives
enclosed with no space
I remember you little girl,
I remember you so well,
(still with a smile in my eyes)
and our home in the hidden hedgerow
and your pink tray with painted roses
you’d dragged from a tangled ditch
and scrubbed clean as a whistle
to serve me tea, one day, long ago,
when i returned from my wandering hunt
in the unfenced, treasure filled hills.
I remember your bouncing braids
as you ran and skipped on ahead,
to the shade of the bluebell woods.
I remember your chapped lips,
dry, from long summers suns;
the lips that i kissed so chastely
and thought it a daring deed
that I waited for days to repeat,
knowing you wanted me
to practice more kisses in play.
my princess of summer meadows,
my princess of virginal snows,
my princess of warm rains and ice,
my princess of the beckoning
who thought she was only a girl
we knew how to savour life
we knew how to live for one day,
and never for yesterday.
we only wished our tomorrow
to be the same as today,
in the simple trust that it would.
now, i remember you, little girl,
i wish that it always was
She gave me the simple gift of a daisy
that shone in the sun for one day, long ago.
He gave me a strong staff to walk the wild hills,
I am walking them now, wondering still.
Both gifts are of equal value to me.
For these gifts, in return, I invited them home.
When the night falls the twins of the heavens hang high above
Symbolic stars in a union of love.
i see the streets from big wide windows
i wouldn’t cage a wild bird
i see the magpies perched
on nearby roofs and chimney tops
i haven’t left the house for months
except for weekly hurried visits
to the bank and back again
to pay the hired help who come
for one lone hour a week and leave
i look up maps of nearby woods
woods to which i cannot go
i have started planting trees
within the sheltered garden walls
i see the rolling hills so distant
the snow will come to cover all
the winter nights are drawing in
there’s a rainbow over the hill
in the distance
where I used to play music
with friends
under the trees, by a fire
do the trees remember me still
on quiet Sunday afternoons?
there is gold spilled on the ground,
between sunshine and gentle rain
I sit in the window alone
above the darkened garden
and the lamplit streets
that lead to the far away hills.
The lamp behind me
casts my own shadow down
onto the empty lawn.
A passing stranger looks up,
hurries on and is gone.
A father carries his daughter home.
She droops on his shoulder, asleep.
The only sound is the traffic
and a party and laughter,
distant, along the street.
The moon is hidden by billowing cloud.
The stars up above are unseen.
Looking down to the gloom of the garden
I take comfort
in only the smallest things –
a frail light that shines on apple tree leaves
and the sweet, gentle autumn air.
The Dreaming Path 