Author: basgallop

a trudge, with trusty dog, up the hillside, thru the ruddy, stodgy devon mud
beneath the discerning stare of brute huge, swag bellied cows,
quietly about their lumbersome bother, some glower… with menaces
the clod and the pebble… thought babbles schoolboy blake.. ha, gravity is a myth, like the earth sucks
into the woods, the grey skies coax the clamour of colour: from bluebells, from campions,
sets free the vibrant, myriad hue of green, all is mottled, daubed, expansive
the euphoric flourish of each and every leaf, oh beautiful floozy spring!
a patina of birdsong.. ‘tell all secrets, tell all secrets’
just for a moment, i put aside these burdensome words, one step further, free from thought, to fumble on, into the joyful breath of the world, which tumbling, burgeoning, always is and forever thus

what point to prod at that which is beautiful? just to break what i do not understand… for it is not with the muffled thoughts which knock in the head… nor even the lithe sparkle, the mountain torrent that spouts from the tongue… rather it is with the dumb warmth, cocooned within the heart. love