Posts tagged ‘links’

18/08/2013

Object No.5 – Flat Pack

 

 

We’d join the meteorites of life:

The points of light, the dying tails.

The “thing” and then the “consequence”,

The reasons why it might make sense.

 

Each move we’d make we’d need some more:

Another shelf, another chair,

Another clothes rail for the shirts,

Another crater for our hopes.

 

We’d join the panels, find the slots,

The pins and dowels, the creaking locks.

Then gravity would pull them in:

Our fallen stars, our lifetime’s things.

 

The drawers might stick, the mirrors crack,

And once they’ve gone, there’s no way back.

 

 

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11/04/2013

The Water Lathe

 

From minds creating waterfalls,

In fields of buttercups and flies,

The start of summer crashes in,

And breaks the stream of forming words.

 

Those thoughts which capture pike in webs –

Suspended from the highest boughs –

Are linking up connections dead,

A million human years or more.

 

So summon fish and burst the banks,

And cast about the newborn springs.

The lathe is working hard on dreams,

To join the lakes and neural paths,

 

And everything connects and splits:

This heaven Earth has Eden streams.

 

 

for Ursula Le Guin

 

10/03/2013

Leighton Moss

 

1. The Ghosts

 

So nothing dies, it lingers on,

It sinks beneath the matted reeds,

It hovers on the winter air,

It wraps its roots around the oak.

 

A bear has whispered through the woods,

Its tundra paws are soft as moss.

We see it in our open hearts,

We call it from its long lost path.

 

A lynx is in the reed bed’s edge.

Its stories deep as morning mist,

We summon memories from its shade,

Its whiskers taste of vanished dawn.

 

The sedge and forest, lake and burn,

All echo with the drifts of death.

 

 

2. The Wood Well Oak

 

The time zones buckled, seasons bent,

The rings lay thick, then thin, then lost,

As moisture, snows and distant droughts,

Were channeled through its heart of wood.

 

It stood beside a woodland well,

With leaves of cloth and dreams of love.

The people circled round like rings,

They merged their hopes with form and place.

 

A hundred years it took to rot:

From deep within the fungus grew.

It fell, one April, in a storm:

But even then its Spring leaves bloomed,

 

The wood well oak became the land.

The circles stopped, the cycle rolled.

 

3. Reed Bed

 

The waters teem with life and death,

Electric fevers of the Spring,

They’ve waited for their time to come:

In sun and light they burst and fade.

 

The land is crawling, grasping air,

It gasps for rain and captures birds,

It lifts and folds its crystal tears.

The land is dust and rock and grave.

 

The reeds are caught between these worlds.

They play the air and call to land,

Their echo-verse is ages old,

They breathe the water’s swirling song.

 

Fragility – it marks this place –

Where life wells up, but leaves no trace.

 

 

4. Bittern Fire

 

The light explodes in neural fires,

And life – intense and candle bright –

Reflects its spark from reed to reed,

And smokeless burns from eye to eye.

 

Invisible, the bittern blends.

Within the reeds it bleeds its form,

Through willow stumps, to deepest sedge,

Where only beak and eye are sharp –

 

Are photon sharp, are stark as stars.

The final sight the frog will see:

A dart of light, a blade, an eye,

Then gone and gulped and nothing more.

 

The bittern merges with the sun.

The life is one, the reed bed home.

 

5. The Last of Winter (A Northern Song)

 

The winter-scattered waxwings pause

For breath in rowans, twilight peached,

And dusted with the northern lights,

Vermillion and yellow chrome.

 

A Kalevala dance of wings,

Of brambling orange, white and black,

Of fieldfare stories, flighting seas,

At night with redwings, sharp as snows.

 

And on the lake the goldeneye,

Which fledged the earth, now dives for ice.

It pulls the songs out of the pike,

Then pops and bobs and shivers wings.

 

The tundra sun is turning round.

The arctic calls: its losts are found.

 

 

6. Saplings at the Margins

 

Embraced by roots and twisted truths,

With molten magic coursing through,

The bursting stems and latent forms

Are whole and fragments, buds and bark.

 

Conducting sun and seeping earth,

The branches whip the sky and marsh.

The sap they suck from distant stars

Is swirled in centuries of growth.

 

A universe is wrapped in reeds:

A fecund, replicating world,

A place of bird song, frog song, birth,

An immanence of creaks and leaves.

 

The sedge and willow bend and bow:

A pen and flute within the flow.

 

 

30/10/2012

Our Time

 

We let these moments pass us by:

The simple gust, the breeze of dust.

As if the air were empty space,

A different and inhuman place.

 

Inhale like every other time:

That breath was once in Sappho’s lungs,

In fibres rolled in ancient scrolls,

And mixed with Dreamtime songs and chants.

 

And Lorca’s final, sand-filled gasp

Is falling now as Autumn rain.

And Rosa’s blood from Landwehr ditch,

Is in the beat of every heart.

 

We miss the air, as air flows by.

The drops of Lethe have filled our sighs.

24/07/2012

The Song of Ondine (Water’s Song)

 

The song of blood, the song of snow.

In cliffs are waves on ocean shores.

The rain on moorland flows as streams

A thousand generations hence.

 

The song of forests, song of caves.

A home you made, a love you built.

The questions you forgot to ask.

The truth of birds which sing at dawn.

 

The song of stories, song of hearts.

The boat which drifts, the sadness born.

A simple meal in alpine fields.

The door which you have left unlocked.

 

The song she sang when she was free:

The song of rivers, lakes and seas.