Blue sky to the heavens
Grey mist to the sea
Black, white crested waves
Rothko through and through
Within our imaginary spirits
Most days I would try to write a poem; it is a practice, as I suppose is meditation, or smiling, or watching the world go by
Friday, 26 April 2013
Thursday, 25 April 2013
Rain for the refreshment of love
There is a song at the waters edge
There are pebbles on vacant sands
There are swirls where the streams of water head towards the sea
There are people, why wouldn't there be
The beauty of this beach idyll is then all but beaten out of me, by Kate's insistence that we carry on walking in the rain, towards a small dwelling, with four windows and a door
I go along with the daftness for a while, but finally insist on returning to the hotel
Kate walks to my left side, taking shelter from the persistent rain; my right side becomes soddened
At the cross roads we turn right, now we walk directly into the wind, and the slanting rain
Kate takes shelter, she walks, just short of a rainfalls depth, behind me; my front becomes entirely soddened
A calm emerges, clear light ahead
There are songs in my head
There are stones for my feet to kick
There are puddles
Ideal for children like me and Kate to skip and splash in
There are people
Why wouldn't there be
Wednesday, 24 April 2013
Rites of Passage
In the back place
A slightly quieter place
Respite from the rain
With leaves strewn
Where bodies swoon
For the love of freedom
Tuesday, 23 April 2013
The overpowering energy of lost love
Memory so easily painted
Soft lights, warm colours
Time past fleeting
Left behind, as time present
Warmth from within
Monday, 22 April 2013
Beyond the reclamation is love
Past the broken down tractors
Past the randomly discarded farm implements
Over the heather moor, beyond the peat bog
Past the rebuilt black houses
Past the new houses, with abandoned static caravans
Humankind losing its desire for aesthetic beauty
Perhaps this is what a hard life brings
Years of cutting peat or catching fish
Years of toil before this current time
Work in support of the leisured classes
Perhaps the years of hardship
Coupled with regular shrouds of mist and rain
Combine to build an island consciousness
Where survival & shelter comes first
Life’s uncertain base, comes a long way first
This is not then the place for we seekers
Seekers of the peak
The peak of the self realisation pyramid
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