Tag Archives: writing

Ageing Ungracefully

Who calls it Winter

Maybe not anyone

Maybe Winter ought be Wither

an unsettling in becoming undone

Through our adventure cycle we endure

So much unknown ready yet still unsure

We are not captains of our own journeys

until we’ve sailed far and long vast seas

Rejected perfection abandoned second looks

How fortunate the few among many

Who discover knowledge secreted in books

As vision grows blurred our steps grow slow

As thin petals yellow our music hums low

May your withering come easy

May your wisdom stay well hid

May your death pass swift and unexpected

like your brief illustrious lifetime did.

Sundown with Heron

Heron and me

Wind and sea

Space between us

Watcher and watcher watching

Am I alone here

Or part of a whole

Belonging is fleeting

Questions lift and fly

Melody of swash carries

Choirs from other shores

Night birds glide to clouds

I survey you surveying

Graceful hunter

Sky draws her shades

I choose a stone to throw

Refuge

in this way you find separation

paths familiar yet unmarked

wade into tall fragrant grasses

caresses soft as spring butterfly wings

nature’s choir harmonic tuning

humming from your chest

test your equilibrium

one leg raised for motion

hush your paradiddle heart

chin anointing clavicle

closed eyes filter morning’s sacred light

home home crescendo

sustain your hallelu

hold it close inhale inhabit

invest your all

linger with your knowing gaze

you may never feel

this ready

so alive again

Art

Why should I want to contain you

Place your beauty within this cage in this frame

For is not arresting all at the essence of Art

Fragrance of imperfect freedom

An unleashing

Flight from confinement

Escape from ordinary

Exploration of sensescapes no corporeal beings roam

Wings

Logic and deduction and evidence and explanation

Too loaded to follow

A bridge deconstructed an outline made of squint

Lace and velvet satin and flowers rivulets of sky in an ocean of dream

Scenes of an unscene

Can I slip into my/your/our centre in secret moments

Touch your raw naked pulse

Feel

What it is to know truth at the intersection

Where imperfect breath and depth of life exchange promises

Without uttering a sound

But a shift

Caught drifting soft past

A presence

Something there