Saturday, 24 March 2012
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
Friday, 25 November 2011
Saturday, 19 November 2011
november 19
faded purple marsh thistle
more dried up and skeletoned
broken boned and brown
all leaves claimed for autumn\a golden mustard ache, copper, pink, copper
streaked ray of sun
photographs lumps of dew
which hug each piece of grass
more dried up and skeletoned
broken boned and brown
all leaves claimed for autumn\a golden mustard ache, copper, pink, copper
streaked ray of sun
photographs lumps of dew
which hug each piece of grass
Wednesday, 9 November 2011
Monday, 31 October 2011
catching twelve means twelve months good luck
I will have to wait, chasing doesn't work-
standing under a tree in wind might
one slides down the back of my right shoulder
another strikes me at the throat
my hands lurch up, miss
leaves on their wind channels
suddenly change direction
like me - drift
dash
flop
bal-
ance
and all on that
fateful journey
down
I will have to wait, chasing doesn't work-
standing under a tree in wind might
one slides down the back of my right shoulder
another strikes me at the throat
my hands lurch up, miss
leaves on their wind channels
suddenly change direction
like me - drift
dash
flop
bal-
ance
and all on that
fateful journey
down
Sunday, 30 October 2011
Monday, 24 October 2011
Monday October 24
bees, wasps, flies
autumn, but warmed
leaves telescoped behind each other , depth lengthened
could wisdom focus like that with age, with autumn
thatch shedding like pick-a sticks
hawthorn tree emptied, soft edges overgrown and stringy
lie on the bricks
bathe in sun
body, bricks, earth
layers of roots
ancient earth
historic bricks
50 year old body
air
sky
universe
simple layers fathomed deep
charged with experience
my roots
stories I have lived
forbear history of this plot of land
this land
this natural world
dragonfly breezes in, melding into stone, dark on white brick
bee on my neck, jiggle it away
dragonfly clinging to sunned wall
and off past my leg to the pond
a slice of light
a huge butterfly opens it brown, orange, black and white flaps
moves like a heart
cascades away in unruly patterns
autumn, but warmed
leaves telescoped behind each other , depth lengthened
could wisdom focus like that with age, with autumn
thatch shedding like pick-a sticks
hawthorn tree emptied, soft edges overgrown and stringy
lie on the bricks
bathe in sun
body, bricks, earth
layers of roots
ancient earth
historic bricks
50 year old body
air
sky
universe
simple layers fathomed deep
charged with experience
my roots
stories I have lived
forbear history of this plot of land
this land
this natural world
dragonfly breezes in, melding into stone, dark on white brick
bee on my neck, jiggle it away
dragonfly clinging to sunned wall
and off past my leg to the pond
a slice of light
a huge butterfly opens it brown, orange, black and white flaps
moves like a heart
cascades away in unruly patterns
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