The moon petals the sea. Rose petals the sea. Stone sea. Stone petals. Rose petals of stone. Stone rising before me. Sea moves. How moves...
This post has in a sense been handed to me by two or three responses to my post On not getting it. In the course of discussing how a reade...
extract from the poem Koi by John Burnside All afternoon we've wandered from the pool to alpine beds and roses ...
It all depends, you see, how you go about it. And that I cannot tell you, for that will be dictated by you and by you knowing your friends...
A Birthday in April ~ Wordsworth Prompt from The Imaginary Garden with Real Toads (The first of three posts which will celebrate the l...
Friday, 4 March 2011
What would you say to know that sap
is heavy with the fruits of thought
that leaves alone can understand?
A wood is a monastic place,
its trees provide incessant prayer,
and images of states of grace
are mined by roots and raised to God
in litanies the branches trace -
though when a breeze excites a tree
the prayers are more extempore.
I'm safer here beneath their shade
than any arched or stone arcade;
they will not let the world intrude,
but guard this peace and solitude
and all those constant streams that rise
from spirit earth to spirit skies
to make our intervening space
a pristine, breathing, birthing place.