March 10 Earthquake japan

sun arrives on this mildly extravagent spring moring
sky striped with white
rough chalk sketches, lining the blue with line-messages

as if we were drawing a bowl of string against the sky, around the earth,
so many, someone could pull the end and tighten...

the world is parting company with itself

March 7 Alan & Robert & Edward Thomas

march 3

 this human earth

Are we as alive as each other -
this human earth
creature or leaf
bone or apple
brick or tongue

I turn the pond upside down
and lay it flat on the sky.

Like a weightless, million-skirted wasps nest
who can tell what depths they both hold

I have to return to certain worlds.
Oh earth, hold me up as I find my way down.

feb 28

the fall of day
still chill
old dinner-plate grey clouds

flip and wiget of wings of the nesting bird in thatch
lisp of one higher in the air
the curling one
clipping and sighing, dancing and simpering, kettling, rambling, ticking, chucking,
mixing, delegating, jumping,
jittering around the valley

the edges mute up as light leaves
a silent swallow gently flippers across the sky

february 25

4 visits later

this morning -  sun, two dogs appearing more scared of me than me, with their trecker doing her round,
gratitude is shared
to have a boundary
to have no boundary
to have this world to hold me up
light turns and colour bathes the view
dense, damp, drying, jumping, laughing, strumming, slipping, sectioning, dripping, marveling, musing,ricocheting, deep sound of woven bird language, cows, hawks, trucks, dogs and droning cars, a yawning mow, a tripping rapid release
all this noise greets the sun!
Someone in the two days has chopped back the growth of thorns and reeds


two mornings earlier, a mist, a soggy trip

a visit with Leslie and Scarlett and talks of the event for May 8th

Judith and I and our day with no preparation and its unflowering

february 14

a slice of sun
an edge of cloud
a lung of life
a twitch on my ragged soul
the littering of catkins
upright and bright
yellow and true
every breath  held
give back
my lung of life
my edge of cloud
my slice of sun

Dancers in Landscape February 6

February 7

the bare hawthorn ghosts against the yew
like old dresses-
taken away,
leaving the stitches-
little lobs, snitches, knotted lines-
Delicate as long gone perfume
Its blurred outline crimped and lonely.
Revealed only by the greenbacked yew.

I hear a rock band of wind
a dropping, cluttering, bird of noise
the restless traffic of  air


It all sways-
cloud to tree to grass to brick
the doors flurry and smash, shocking the walls,
fly and warp like leaves
reverberate and shift
It rushes up
even in the gloom and groan
winter is usurped

Tash Bidgood photographing snowdrops

The sky holds onto the tops of the trees
pulling them up by bevelled edges
claiming them with cloud

I take my seat
settle
real ripples on the pond, from under the surface
whinge of saw
a landscape of gently nudging from both sides
earth and being

High birds fly randomly, black
against clouds and blue
one has caught the wave
glissades higher, wings motionless
a dash against the cirrus
lost
space opens

can bone grow into stone
aching muscle into creaking branch
rumbling stomach into rippling pond

eyes grow wider
lazy around the edges
to catch the flickerings

an eye that listens gently

treasures of the damp, ungainly field
are like cold coins
lain on a warm cheek