Paradise Returned

Early world-day January sun gently

Tears away low scraps of frosty fog ribbons

Washes its delightful warmth and

Fresh-as-Eden light against the

Eastern sides of garden silver birches,

Makes jewels of drips at the purple twig tips;

Feeling is tranquil, though there is work to be done.

A patient, forgiving god is near.

Grey

Thin, quiet and

Slow, so-slow

That strip of ghost-near land

‘Tween fog-roll banks and

God-dark’d limits of Heaven.

Wearing grey coat, grey mood

I am disquieted observer –

Intruder perhaps –

Unable to decide whether

Light and season

Are approaching

Or leaving

The stage.

There is glory

Both in the winning

And the giving away.

Walking Steadily Away …

 

That coming-in tide –

Be it blood, memory or saltwater –

Cannot always be friendly:

It knows nothing, after all,

Of shape, history or consequence.

We all know what we believe

To be true by the things

We decide not to let in… Continue reading

First, the Arriving …

From the fog,

From the foam;

First, the arriving,

Then the striving –

Get it right,

Keep it tight –

On the roads,

On the ropes.

Between the round one corner

And the canvas

Is nothing more than physical pain.

Why so worried ?

13/4/2013