Saturday, 12 May 2012
Monday, 7 May 2012
Friday, 6 April 2012
april 6
pink dusk
a lone pheasant, no, another
sore- throated birds
a coughing cow
a magpie off behind white blossom
on a cherry that was only in bud six days ago
stinging nettles curling in for the evening
lifted lid of pink against mauve cloud low on tree top tips
newts gaggle in the stalky pond
a lone pheasant, no, another
sore- throated birds
a coughing cow
a magpie off behind white blossom
on a cherry that was only in bud six days ago
stinging nettles curling in for the evening
lifted lid of pink against mauve cloud low on tree top tips
newts gaggle in the stalky pond
Tuesday, 27 March 2012
gracious sun and first butterflies
yellow and brown
water as bright as silver foil
nettles bite with fresh venom of spring and heat
and one's life rejoices
just for the day
it is quiet
insects, sleeping birds, a few insects hitting the sides of the barn
a himmer of things miraging up
colours bleach in the light
and I choose shadow
glance up
a magpie's white wing tips slide sideways
into the small leaved as yet ungreen trees
like a flicker
it is so hot
yellow and brown
water as bright as silver foil
nettles bite with fresh venom of spring and heat
and one's life rejoices
just for the day
it is quiet
insects, sleeping birds, a few insects hitting the sides of the barn
a himmer of things miraging up
colours bleach in the light
and I choose shadow
glance up
a magpie's white wing tips slide sideways
into the small leaved as yet ungreen trees
like a flicker
it is so hot
Saturday, 24 March 2012
it is the air
listening to the air
to the low link of ether to earth
to the sky diving clouds
to the arc of a dancing plane
to the skid of heavy handed weather
to the invisible rhythm
I see a mission-
the element of air
to the birds
to looking up
to the wildflower
outsider of beauty
for the weather air brings and my bearing it
for the time contemplation takes
for the crow's lurching shriek
gentle ripple journey chaffinches skirting over the hawthorn tree as if it were a silk nightgown
moving grace
I went on a breath pilgrimage
I live in air
my own electricity
my own book of knowledge
my own cup of tea
my own landscape
dissolving into air and reforming
the shelter of a boned leaf
aired and feathered
the drift of down
on a meadow
signalling massacre
yet poetic
there is a tap of air that when I untwist
contours my world
solitude breaths
listening to the air
to the low link of ether to earth
to the sky diving clouds
to the arc of a dancing plane
to the skid of heavy handed weather
to the invisible rhythm
I see a mission-
the element of air
to the birds
to looking up
to the wildflower
outsider of beauty
for the weather air brings and my bearing it
for the time contemplation takes
for the crow's lurching shriek
gentle ripple journey chaffinches skirting over the hawthorn tree as if it were a silk nightgown
moving grace
I went on a breath pilgrimage
I live in air
my own electricity
my own book of knowledge
my own cup of tea
my own landscape
dissolving into air and reforming
the shelter of a boned leaf
aired and feathered
the drift of down
on a meadow
signalling massacre
yet poetic
there is a tap of air that when I untwist
contours my world
solitude breaths
March 24 questions
are the daffodils too bright?
does anyone ever want to cut down a tree?
-the silver birch hunks wait disconsolately by the road
does someone practice their call over and over, is it some sort of training?
is that waving leaf on long stem flagging the fleeing moves of a mouse?
and yes, that was a grass snake sliding into sun in a deep hedge
and is it first of the year?
That moss peak in the dull meadow, a minuature bog man's lair?
an open door, wet bootmarks near the barn the only place still dewed
heart attackingly close, two birds fall out of the roof above my head
battering ram noise as they fight, then burst apart
fly off in a rampage
I was getting inside the rhythm of the continually shouting voice
how can it call so often?
is it to a sheepdog, or calling for a lost dog over and over
I am beginning to think so
the voice is clearer 'Tilly'
and finally I meet the caller
a blue grey whippet he has been calling for two hours
he hopes she is somewhere in the woods
but a held desperation accompanies the seesaw call
two hours he says
and sorry to disturb
does anyone ever want to cut down a tree?
-the silver birch hunks wait disconsolately by the road
does someone practice their call over and over, is it some sort of training?
is that waving leaf on long stem flagging the fleeing moves of a mouse?
and yes, that was a grass snake sliding into sun in a deep hedge
and is it first of the year?
That moss peak in the dull meadow, a minuature bog man's lair?
an open door, wet bootmarks near the barn the only place still dewed
heart attackingly close, two birds fall out of the roof above my head
battering ram noise as they fight, then burst apart
fly off in a rampage
I was getting inside the rhythm of the continually shouting voice
how can it call so often?
is it to a sheepdog, or calling for a lost dog over and over
I am beginning to think so
the voice is clearer 'Tilly'
and finally I meet the caller
a blue grey whippet he has been calling for two hours
he hopes she is somewhere in the woods
but a held desperation accompanies the seesaw call
two hours he says
and sorry to disturb
Sunday, 18 March 2012
feb 26
just a moment to be here
blue light on water
fuzz on hawthorn
chainsaw groan
dock leaves and nettles
starting to grow
blue light on water
fuzz on hawthorn
chainsaw groan
dock leaves and nettles
starting to grow
Sunday, 5 February 2012
Sunday, 29 January 2012
january 29
clinging mists in the folds of the range of further horizons
perhaps I'm in it too
a solitary duck sends out an anguished call
keeps trying
now faster now throatier
a longer silence
another
deep in a ditch
its a conversation
fields apart
two magpies sitting on the absolute tips of two spindly trees
their contradictory noise
echoing each other
and hedges blend into trees blend into thickets into firs
echo of aircraft
chorded deep and comfotably
fading gently on and on
birds, a stream, the latch of a gate
solitude is the great giver
perhaps I'm in it too
a solitary duck sends out an anguished call
keeps trying
now faster now throatier
a longer silence
another
deep in a ditch
its a conversation
fields apart
two magpies sitting on the absolute tips of two spindly trees
their contradictory noise
echoing each other
and hedges blend into trees blend into thickets into firs
echo of aircraft
chorded deep and comfotably
fading gently on and on
birds, a stream, the latch of a gate
solitude is the great giver
Sunday, 22 January 2012
collecting gates
found a dead tree
ivy bound
its leaves still green, its berries blackcurrant
was it the tree or the ivy
the ivy has snapped too
its as dense as wood
the trunk has crumbled inside
the split is from the root
poor tree killed by ivy and rough wind
a nest of ingrown chicken wire
inhabited like a cobweb dancing in the shadows
and has that slab of concrete always been there
the perfect tripping device
found a dead tree
ivy bound
its leaves still green, its berries blackcurrant
was it the tree or the ivy
the ivy has snapped too
its as dense as wood
the trunk has crumbled inside
the split is from the root
poor tree killed by ivy and rough wind
a nest of ingrown chicken wire
inhabited like a cobweb dancing in the shadows
and has that slab of concrete always been there
the perfect tripping device
Sunday, 8 January 2012
january 8 2012
First visit of the year
the barn is 'new'
the roof has been re-thatched and covered in wire
to stop the animals and birds destroying it
and the ground around has been whipped back and flattened
dull greens and purples
a touch of copper, greys and light
shuffled and paged
string whites of the young birches
lurch of ivy moving up a row
smudged pink of empty ends of branch tips
still
as the sound of a gate being knocked in a few fields away
so outlined in the quiet its sharpness cuts sound
sudden mountainous cry of passionate crows
the barn is 'new'
the roof has been re-thatched and covered in wire
to stop the animals and birds destroying it
and the ground around has been whipped back and flattened
dull greens and purples
a touch of copper, greys and light
shuffled and paged
string whites of the young birches
lurch of ivy moving up a row
smudged pink of empty ends of branch tips
still
as the sound of a gate being knocked in a few fields away
so outlined in the quiet its sharpness cuts sound
sudden mountainous cry of passionate crows
Friday, 16 December 2011
Sunday, 11 December 2011
Thursday, 8 December 2011
wind wayward wind wind away
barn doors swing back and forth like a solid skirt, crashing against the edges
suddenly in the dark, I wait-
for the wind to open them again,
slits of light and massive bombardment of sound - an unshelter -
I wait, for the reveal -
wobbling , wet, last leaves leaving
jittering, struggling to hold on
I have waited for this assault of weather
through this gentle autumn - something ready to pounce
weather reasserts itself
and I happily hold steady against the blast, then release and blow away
changeable as the wind
take away take away, away is where `I want to be
wind away wind
way of wind way
away
barn doors swing back and forth like a solid skirt, crashing against the edges
suddenly in the dark, I wait-
for the wind to open them again,
slits of light and massive bombardment of sound - an unshelter -
I wait, for the reveal -
wobbling , wet, last leaves leaving
jittering, struggling to hold on
I have waited for this assault of weather
through this gentle autumn - something ready to pounce
weather reasserts itself
and I happily hold steady against the blast, then release and blow away
changeable as the wind
take away take away, away is where `I want to be
wind away wind
way of wind way
away
Monday, 28 November 2011
a boot just beside the entrance pond
just one, definitely worn and scrapped
its a woman's boot with a zip up the outside
and a leaf in
I am always looking for human footprints on the land, in the land, in memory, in imagination
and here, here is a boot, without a foot true, but one that has stepped here and left mystery
body in the water, mud, murder
or just dropped from a tractor's edge or an open back pack
its hard to think of anyone placing it there
it is an accident
a footfall
a still day
frost, acid blue light
behind a range of clouds
frost dew melting in
leaves burnished copper, magenta purple, shadowed conifer green,
burnt mustard , olive dull, gossamer green
two last thistles
clouds move
the rest
still
just one, definitely worn and scrapped
its a woman's boot with a zip up the outside
and a leaf in
I am always looking for human footprints on the land, in the land, in memory, in imagination
and here, here is a boot, without a foot true, but one that has stepped here and left mystery
body in the water, mud, murder
or just dropped from a tractor's edge or an open back pack
its hard to think of anyone placing it there
it is an accident
a footfall
a still day
frost, acid blue light
behind a range of clouds
frost dew melting in
leaves burnished copper, magenta purple, shadowed conifer green,
burnt mustard , olive dull, gossamer green
two last thistles
clouds move
the rest
still
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)