Posts tagged ‘pride’

15/09/2013

Her Lineage

 

Her warmth was bundled up with tales,

Her knowledge flowed on through the years,

The gentle heat, the milk and sweet,

The alchemy of cultured thought.

 

And in each bite, a crunch of salt,

The memories of mountain peaks.

From ninety generations formed:

A slight and sliver, ash and heart.

 

With such pride she gave her love,

With each remembered trick and tip.

On every drying shelf a tale,

Another history of grace.

 

She carried secrets to her grave.

She took off much, but left her soul.

 

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09/06/2013

Night Birds Calling

 

In other times, on darker nights,

The ones who carved the stones would quake

At forest howls, at spirit streams,

At shadows flitting through the trees.

 

But us: we see the lights of planes,

We hear the distant hum of roads,

We search the nightjar – tick that box –

We walk straight lines of forest tracks.

 

Oblique we stand – their world breaks through –

There’s distance here that we can’t know.

We hear the birds, we sense the fear:

Religion, science, mean little here.

 

Our pride and indolence are new,

These creatures scream from something true.

 

 

04/04/2013

White Headed Duck

 

A haze has melted tracks and trees

And terraces and Moorish walls

And egrets staring into space,

In which the vultures spin like dust.

 

Below the surface of the pools,

Behind the garish skin of sky,

And deep beneath the mottled earth,

There hide the many names of pride.

 

The fountains, tiles, the mind of god,

Re-shaping seasons, draining swamps,

The petrol shimmer on the lakes,

The urge to build away the pain.

 

An absence lingers by the nests:

You lose the pride, you lose the birds.

 

26/03/2013

A Half-Forgotten Hymn

 

Beyond our acid moors and smoke,

Where crags and limestone tooth the sky,

An empty hearted oak grew old

In downland forest, inward grown.

 

We stalk our moors and cough and choke,

Parade our bitterness and pride.

Puffed up with scars and open sores,

We gather all our people round.

 

We hear the oak may topple soon,

Its rotten roots are losing grip.

Its age once countless now counts down.

It stands alone, it stands forlorn.

 

Together we begin to sing

Our tuneless, half-forgotten hymn.

 

 

28/05/2012

Minotaur Running

 

He runs the moor on gritstone paths,

The heather pollen thick in eyes

Unused to sun and distant skies.

He fears his shadow on the quartz.

 

He’d built an image of the breeze,

But now, at last, he feels her touch.

He looks about but cannot see

The fingers running through his mane.

 

He tastes the blood upon his tongue.

His heart is bursting through his throat.

The moorland paths run on and on,

Across a world un-walled, unknown.

 

Below the earth he stood up proud,

But here – so small – his head is bowed.

24/05/2012

These Minotaurs

 

These Minotaurs: the lost and sad,

The broken bodied, buried, burnt.

These fragments of the tales and fears

Are scattered over ancients’ seas.

 

These Minotaurs: so full of pride,

Of lust, of frail and short-lived reign.

These horrors spawned which rise and hate

And tear the spirit from the heart.

 

These Minotaurs: the innocent

Chthonic children, bursting free.

The gods of tunnels, formed and planned.

The gods of monsters yet to be.

 

These Minotaurs which question us.

These Minotaurs betrayed by us.