Happy New Year

Mendip, ancient altar, sarsen,

Menhir, dolmen, rollright block,

Megalith, peppercorn:

Prehistoric observatory gears,

Gigantic, juxtaposed geometries,

Eccentric, concentric geologies

These sites, these stones hold, grip and squeeze

The past through the present into the future

With calendar, abstract theory and frustrations,

Calculated avenue extrapolation and druid-ring order,

Leading ritual feet and brain; liberating thinking.

Co-efficient, constellation-myth convergences,

Coincident co-ordinates: histories and mysteries,

Engineered troll-planes and fairy angles,

Obfuscation’s puzzles and care-filled clarifications.

But – hold hard:

Look at the small detail

To balance the universal.

Consider closely

The times,

The spaces,

Between the monument rocks.

The dimensions are constant

But the views –

And our perceptions –

Will constantly change

And be altered.

 

 

A big thanks to all who have visited, commented and, in any way supported my blogging over he past year.

I wish you all whatever you would wish for yourselves in the nearly-here Year of the Sheep.

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Shiftin’ Gear

A little grey

In the heart and beard,

Big rig pilot rides

Whispering thunder across

Lonely sage-and-snow plains:

As always,

Shiftin’ gear,

Pushing calendar promises

And clock’s ransom demands;

Wry smile lights up the face

As the tune chnages

“Pretty woman, plain woman

Tellin’ a lie

Is just a signal

For the sky

To cry.”

 

Eve …

Thor,

Dark witch of thunder,

Bleeds for our distraction;

Sometime champion

Far away from the Rainbow Bridge

And ill at ease

In the sparkling peace

That violence brings,

Desperate to hear again

Those candle-tales of a

Quiet star above a stable.

 

 

A safe and merry Christmas to one and all

Solstice.

These are the times when seas

Are flicker-black and silver white;

The icy gears of time and colour

Whir, click and gyre

Inside my head and out –

I hear them, feel them slip, miss,

Come alive on this, the least-light day

Of calendar’s small, moon-ruled patterns.

Horizon birthed skyline is a slow bonfire

Between present-grey and lack of clarity.

Did nature bring the reflective

Stillnesses of winter?

Or did we invent them?

 

Heading for the Borders

If it wasn’t rain,

It will be;

Sooner than you know.

 

And if it hasn’t

Risen just yet,

Wait a while,

For it will …

Though it may not be visible

Even to those who have faith.

 

This is snow

Long before it was snow …

And the same snow

Long after it has fallen.

I am where my forebears dreamed

They would never be:

Above the land and looking down;

Heading for the borders of belief.