Through a weave of variegated ivy leaves,
upon which light and shade played games
my imagination, the truncated tree presented
a face of hollow cheeks and hollow eyes that
questioned my beliefs.
During long winter months, while rain and gales
rampaged, scattering and flinging in a whirl of
winter chaos, the trunk held fast to its roots,
small creatures sought refuge in
and healthy growth but what were my truths.
Thoughts of Celtic Gods and Goddesses occupied my mind, until spring came shyly
through a cloud of leafy tendrils
that framed her face and a crown of green was placed,
for a mythical
Goddess Queen, Druantia, protector of trees, grounding my beliefs and responsibility.
A snowflake wends its way to earth,
dissolving on your hand.
Two or three and more leave
snow pearls in your hair.
You lift your face to the sky,
receive snow kisses on your skin,
hold your breath
as the magic gathers
and in the drifting white
the world is transfigured.
In an awesome quiet
you listen to the morning,
that echoes deep into your heart.
For Heather Dawn Kemp
seeping through pebbles,
over and under to the far-out sea.
Come back, come back, be filled.
One lonely gull,
no more than that to prove I exist,
Mounds of brown sea-weed,
great lumps of slime and slither on denser rock.
The scent of ozone everywhere
neither sweet nor pungent, in my lungs, my mind.
Xylophone tinkles on pebbles,
Power of Cello in wise old rocks.
Trumpet call from standing trees
that hold the cliffs a few days more.
A muffled silence in sagging,
rain filled clouds,
the long, lonely, notes roaring in my ears.
a single gull on the water,
Continue reading “As If It Belongs To him”
9pm. The tide creeps slowly in.A seagull flies overhead. The helicopter returns, sees me here, sitting on this rock.
Like an angel come to see if I’m alright, I’ll be alright, It tilts in acknowledgement, so low above, then returns to it’s watchful duty over the estuary, returning over and over like an old friend.
Watching Seagulls drifting air currents, my arms stretched wide.
Muscles soft, mind adrift.
Tracing patterns with gossamer wings.
The Winter Solstice brings more wind, more rain.
A single bird sings with many voices in the Holly tree.
The song is vibrant, clear, urgent. I long to understand its message,
but all I can hear is joy, all I can see is the Holly Tree,
singing to the wind and rain.