There goes the moon
Half-hatched egg of serpent,
Sliding up a
Gone-past blue sky.
I feel them all,
These whispers without whispering,
As they rattle secretly -and not –
Around this real-ether world.
We’ve never been face-to-face
Yet, disturbingly, and its opposite
She knows me so well.
There are moments, she says
Without speaking when she hangs
On my words. There are days,
I know when I am held in thrall by
Her brutally innocent intuits:
Questions without marks.
“Were we not more whole,
More in touch, when we respected
Those who commune with serpents?
When we recognised the snake as
Healer rather than nightmare?”
Shimmering features –
A fire in a fire –
Slip and tease,
Glimmering gold on gold,
Like the immortal sun
Inside its mortal self.
Icons intertwined of
Past and future –
Together and in opposition.
Seizes and consumes its
Own warrior tale.
This is treasure,
This is shield,
This the breath,
Turning days to precious,
That goes on forever.
Adventures in the life of an English allotment
Garden Blog of the Year 2016
Welcome to my world: digging, harvesting and other stuff
for your family
The evolution of an old farmhouse, an American woman, an Englishman and their dogs.
If you could go anywhere you wanted, where would you be headed right now?
boots of salt and plow blades
blowing through the cobwebs of my mind
Just another WordPress.com weblog
Writing the Wrong, Right, and Ridiculous
Life after the Care Farm
The most Dangerous plant to sleep under is the water lilly
Local History for Great Wyrley and Surrounding Areas
Tales from the mouth of a wolf
introspection & reflection, poetry & prose
Posts about old Hollywood, current concerns