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.

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Harrier

 

Delightful dry-wind friend,

White-winged day ghost –

Feathers cut from polished core of

Purest cumulus, sewn onto galleon jib sheets:

Spirit of summer-new.

Swimming powerfully through

Thick purple and lemon evening

Moor-top strata skies while,

Way below and way behind,

Earth and Heaven shiver with ecstasy.

 

Been Away II

Lifted gently and efficiently by Lufthansa’s local jets from Birmingham to Linz via Frankfurt. “Ja zu Fra”: the busy hub where I just have enough time to make the twisting up and down journey between gates; hoping my luggage made it too (it actually didn’t last time and caught up with me later).

To a place where the sky and heaven are called the same thing, so that every time I think or talk about the sky I am also reminded of Heaven. It’s not a bad thing, when I think about it. Maybe we have too many words in English. Or not enough.

This is a return trip for me. I have seen this region in different seasons – and every one suits it. The dark skies (Heavens), clearly visible constellations and amounts of snow in one overnight fall that would (and does) bring my country to a chaotic standstill are routine here and decorate the rolling countryside magnificently.

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A Different Pulse.

High, clean wind;

Low-tide water.

here we are,

Walking a thin, hopeful

Line of bare-fertile soil

Between the shore

And Heaven;

Piling smooth stones

One atop the other –

On bedrock –

To hold the

Coming storms away:

Feeling a

Different pulse.

 

15/6/2013