John O’Donohue Speaks:
Divine Beauty - The Invisible Embrace
The traditional structures of shelter are shaking,
their foundations revealed to be no longer stone but sand.
One more fire grate
One full set of clay formed sculptures
One bottle of garden flowers
One more memory from the rose
One M is for Mayhem
One bowl of daisies white and yellow
One trip out to the Tarot reading
One more memory from the rose
One perfect chair for the writing
One assembly
Of temporary pop-up tables
One more memory from the rose
One tablecloth topped off
With seasonal preserves
One bookstall filled by avid readers
One more memory from the rose
One sun up high in the blue sky
One meadow for white clouds to hover over
One fly inspecting the introverted writer
One more memory from the rose
One conversation about the use of buildings
One deposition by the Ukulele Band of Louth
One buying of the plants and climbers
One more memory from the rose
One time to be in the simple time
One stroll from here to there and back again
One breeze through the trees and grasses
One more memory from the rose
One embrace among the many
One more need to say a slow goodbye
One more thanks for ever being
One more memory from the rose
Friday, 21 February 2020
Thursday, 20 February 2020
In my rightful righteous spot
In my rightful righteous spot
At the end of willow way
Where the Alpaca walks by
To stretch its legs
In that time, from the morning a while ago
To this time, in the here and now
The willows have grown considerably
Although I knew it in that previous moment
Today’s representation, or incarnation
Or maybe even manifestation
Would be a better word; no matter
For I know this to be a shelter
In much the same way
In which it makes me think
Of the mediation seating
In our own tended garden
Will it ever be joined over the top
Someone asks
As though always
We have the need to raise questions
I hadn’t thought on that
But of course, because
Once the seed is planted
I have no choice but to look at the sky
And wonder
How it would feel
To become enclosed
For my words to be hemmed in
At the end of willow way
Where the Alpaca walks by
To stretch its legs
In that time, from the morning a while ago
To this time, in the here and now
The willows have grown considerably
Although I knew it in that previous moment
Today’s representation, or incarnation
Or maybe even manifestation
Would be a better word; no matter
For I know this to be a shelter
In much the same way
In which it makes me think
Of the mediation seating
In our own tended garden
Will it ever be joined over the top
Someone asks
As though always
We have the need to raise questions
I hadn’t thought on that
But of course, because
Once the seed is planted
I have no choice but to look at the sky
And wonder
How it would feel
To become enclosed
For my words to be hemmed in
Wednesday, 19 February 2020
Beside the pond
Beside the pond
Which is today’s shelter
At the Open Garden in aid of
Cruise Bereavement Counselling
Who provide someone to talk to
When death comes along
Which it will
When your time, as mine also, must be called
Meanwhile England reach three hundred
In an important game against India
Where a win would be most welcome
When a victory could even be celebrated
I have been to this place before
In quieter times
With not quite so many folk
Milling around in conversation
Back then I sat at the far end
Of the meadow grass
To write about the peace of it all
Where the interwoven willow
Was beginning to provide
A most seasonal shelter
But today it is in full-on sun
With no hints of music in this minstrel’s habitat
No rhythms to disturb or still the chatter
Soon I will have a pot of tea
Perhaps with a scone
Or a cucumber sandwich
Which is today’s shelter
At the Open Garden in aid of
Cruise Bereavement Counselling
Who provide someone to talk to
When death comes along
Which it will
When your time, as mine also, must be called
Meanwhile England reach three hundred
In an important game against India
Where a win would be most welcome
When a victory could even be celebrated
I have been to this place before
In quieter times
With not quite so many folk
Milling around in conversation
Back then I sat at the far end
Of the meadow grass
To write about the peace of it all
Where the interwoven willow
Was beginning to provide
A most seasonal shelter
But today it is in full-on sun
With no hints of music in this minstrel’s habitat
No rhythms to disturb or still the chatter
Soon I will have a pot of tea
Perhaps with a scone
Or a cucumber sandwich
Tuesday, 18 February 2020
I have moved
I have moved
From the seat with a dedication
To a bench not yet with a name
I have asked myself
What right do I have to say
That this whole place
Has been stolen from Yorkshire
Just as St Ives
Flattered our own Barbara Hepworth
With its bright Atlantic light
Schoolchildren and pensioners
Of which I am one or the other
Make up today’s
Spread out attendance
I too then a trespasser
Having found my shelter earlier
In the grounds of Orchard Cafe
There, or nearby, to see
A cast of Rupert Brooke
Also his good looking portrait
Hung on the wall in the tea rooms
All is very well here in these grounds
But it is a respite, or a swift retreat
Rather than truly being my shelter
I may visit again, to study in the archives
There to sit, to dwell calmly
And let the perceived truth
Erase my, wilder, first impressions
From the seat with a dedication
To a bench not yet with a name
I have asked myself
What right do I have to say
That this whole place
Has been stolen from Yorkshire
Just as St Ives
Flattered our own Barbara Hepworth
With its bright Atlantic light
Schoolchildren and pensioners
Of which I am one or the other
Make up today’s
Spread out attendance
I too then a trespasser
Having found my shelter earlier
In the grounds of Orchard Cafe
There, or nearby, to see
A cast of Rupert Brooke
Also his good looking portrait
Hung on the wall in the tea rooms
All is very well here in these grounds
But it is a respite, or a swift retreat
Rather than truly being my shelter
I may visit again, to study in the archives
There to sit, to dwell calmly
And let the perceived truth
Erase my, wilder, first impressions
Monday, 17 February 2020
From the cosmopolitan
From the cosmopolitan
Open to all
Yorkshire Sculpture Park
To the exclusivity
Of the upper-middle-class enclave
Which is Perry Green
Is it still you
Or is it someone other
Who turns from stone
To carve in Italian Marble
As used in the old classical style
From the quarries of Tuscany
So whose shelter is this
Does it belong more to your daughter
Than ever it did to you
And for myself
The champagne socialist
Where would I most easily settle for shelter
For sure I cared for Cambridge
Where I bought a wide leather belt
To remind me of style
It was more than I could afford
But then so is almost everything
In these, and also, the coming days
Open to all
Yorkshire Sculpture Park
To the exclusivity
Of the upper-middle-class enclave
Which is Perry Green
Is it still you
Or is it someone other
Who turns from stone
To carve in Italian Marble
As used in the old classical style
From the quarries of Tuscany
So whose shelter is this
Does it belong more to your daughter
Than ever it did to you
And for myself
The champagne socialist
Where would I most easily settle for shelter
For sure I cared for Cambridge
Where I bought a wide leather belt
To remind me of style
It was more than I could afford
But then so is almost everything
In these, and also, the coming days
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