Category: poem

tree

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I love climbing trees, heres me, ooh mbe 8 feet off the ground
limber lumber! aloft!
a mottled, dappled, fickle light, decanted through the vibrant green of leaves… seethe green
the long, far sprawled arms, which creak wiithin the wind,
something of a sea swell, an ease, a sway, that further emphasises this living sturdiness
yet root chakra, shackled securely to the ground, a great grey elephants foot, then the root rummage deep within the earth
dragonflies skitter past, iridescence of wing

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fraught of thought! duff photo, lack of perspective, so you’d never know i was near skybound
went for a cycle ride yesterday, battled up to the South Downs way, followed the ridge to alfriston, then back via Friston Forest.
kids and i have been climbing this tree forever, the be-tentacled Ash… on account of its octopus limbs
I love Ash energy, always feels gentle and forgiving…
tho I do know 2 ancient ones, in a much neglected copse, those are trees of the fae, you can imagine doors, a portal to the under realm
climbing, i usually get to about 8 ft up, then think, hmmm, thats probably far enough
i’ve never been the daredevil type, a smidge delusional and gung ho, yet renowned more for timidity and vertigo
super impressed by anyone who scales to preposterous heights, but they be creatures of fire and air, whilst i’m more earth and water (mud!)
when doing a creative visualisation, in the bit when they say ‘imagine your home, somewhere where you belong’
i always feel myself to be cradled in the arms of a huge ancient oak tree, proper gnarly
usually its near to a stream or a waterfall, else a gentle slope down to the sea and a small sandy shell strewn cove
grown ups should climb trees more often! a political slogan?
…peters out midst vast distraction and things to do

autumn

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the woods reek of rot, of fungus, to speak of solemn loss
autumn is afoot, not quite, but certainly tickling at the toes
i am nimble amongst the cautious quiet of the morning
having rummaged deep in the wardrobe for todays costume, vintage 2013!
nut season… conkers with their whorled grain and rich lustrous mahoganny sheen
hazlenuts startled, fresh from the preposterous, baroque lace of their casing
yada yada!
…..
grappled with flu, some work, equinox boogie and sacred stroll, lots of hanging out with friends and family! been pleasant
snaps from this morning and a jaunt to batemans with daughter x

https://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/visit/escape-into-autumn

weight of forever

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Chalk… crushed skeletons, the weight of forever!
morning light, the sun washed white through the milk murk
up on the cliffs at castle hill, this weeks theme the swathes of hawthorn berries, scarlet as flame jacaranda
‘blobbed’ blackberries, the best a yogic stretch out of reach
later, down on the beach after a swim… ‘ALbion alBIon albiON’ rembering the chant from the football, that ebbed and flowed like waves
Albion is, of course, an ancient name for Britain, from at least Romano Celt times, derived from a word for white, most likely due to the cliffs of the south east
tho nowadays more familiar through the prism, the mythology of Blake, for whom Albion was a giant and THE primeaval man
i can imagine a merchant from the low countries, his boat down laden with coloured glass, pewter plates,
sails restless in the breeze, grey sky overhead, grey swell of sea, brood beneath
the boat lifts up, a rent in the clouds, blue sky, and there… look … majestic towering cliffs
gleaming, crown chakra white, this enchanted, shining land

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word froth aside, i’ve been loving this late burst of sunshine, swan song of a reluctant summer, was a busy august with festies, adventures in devon etc
tuesday went with daughter up atop of the seven sisters, then yesterday a pedal with son up seaford head (autocorrect always wants to say ‘seafood’)!
feasting on marrows from the garden (forgotten courgettes!), tomatoes and errm rotton apple juice! be cider sea side
(kids.. mostly.. obvs reluctant to be in facebook snaps)

crescendo

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bless the infinite tumult crescendo of late may!
a world burst higgeldy piggeldy with flowers
bird song, days stretched out by endless light
the air perfumed by liacs, roses and elderflowers
kirtan, evenings of comedy, dancing at caravanersai
the mighty elm of preston park
dunk in the crisp, electric blue of the ocean
a handful of words scattered carelessly
the soft languor of twilight, expansive, realm of staggering rapture, flow from above
bask in this enchantment, today, the euphoria of everywhere!
………
pics, mostly, credit to mara

it’s me, me,me and me again!… yes, i know, i tried diluting with flowers… but it’s impossible to choose a single snap, when the colours are just so blooming marvelous! x

Esther: Love your take on the world 💜

equinox

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equinox blessings! where light balances dark, ebb matches flow, stasis amongst the tumult of change
Rhythm of Blood, Rhythm of Breath, these entwined spirals, Gaia Gyre forwards
days of poise and cusp… touching earth, reaching for sky… brimful, human
in my pink wooly hat and green swim shorts, idly pushing fridge magnets together, tweaking between repulsion and attraction
cheerfully, tunelessly, humming a mash up twixt… ‘big wheel keep on turning’ and ‘…the whole world in his hands’
pondering the contents of the depleted cupboards ‘leak and potato soup or porridge for brekkie? both?’
a selfie a day keeps the doctor away, oh vanity… whats that tarot card where he holds the globe? flicks quickly through pack… two of wands! will ruminate on that energy today
anyway… things to be doing! rustle up those reluctant bones
wishing you a sumptuous day! x

Debs: Hey, which did you decide on? Leek and potato porridge? Xx 🤣

ha! yum… sadly neither, was a day of errands for mum, inevitably pfaffed too long on social media and had to skip brekkie! xx

Laurence: funny, I have been listening to this after a long period of not… synchronisation

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… the first time i heard the massive attack ‘unfinished sympathy’ record…
early 90’s in the squat in Prague, had been out all night at a party, so suitably off my trolly
was being played on a cassete, blown away!
dawn, someone had a croquet set(?!), so we blearily straggled our way past the baroque statues on Karlov Most (Charles Bridge) to the little park at Na Kampe
Crusties! Croissants! Croquet!… and ha, Massive Attack
still love that album, it and screamadelica… just made you ‘Believe’
how can it be more than 30 years old?? x

pondersome

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pondersome over coffee. surrender. the soft lilt of rain outside the window
music all a mingle, bossa nova interleaved with irish ballads
this tip toe whisper of spring, a hush almost on the cusp of lyricism
soil a wriggle, of roots and earthworms
chin tilted, slightly uplifted, faces echo flowers
an expectation of warmth, the gentle balm of grace
a turning

the vicissitudes of water

photo from last winter, wish i’d taken some today!
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the vicissitudes of water

down by the river Mole
contemplating the reflection of trees, on the opposite bank, in the waters of the river below
a mirrored green prolifferation of foilage
apart from the occasional pock mark and wind ripple, the reflection is serene, calm and still…
and yet, peering beneath the surface, the water races downstream
hurtle and intent
something astonishing, how can motion summon such stillness?
like the chime, the clear gracious note from a singing bowl, this grasps me emotionally, buoyed up, then pulled slightly apart, gently rent
much in the way a tree, its roots rummaging down into the earth mother below, yet branches and leaves reach to the light above,
tension and stretch
river of flow and stillness, realm of insight and reverie
in truth but a variant on the notion ‘we can never bathe in the same river twice’, whats in the noggin, but stepped down from the lofty impregnable, turret of thought
emotions, held in the body, modulated, softened through the blessings of water

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later, at the mill race, after the water has come over the drop, rebound, it surges back upwards from the depths
a marbled ooze like the clouds of some gas giant planet, all mottled greens and blues
4 separate pools, between them a linked chase of bubbles, a pattern that breaks then reforms again in an identical manner
a holding pattern, a frequency resonance?
sense of seethe
something about water welling up from below, primordial, the goddesses of springs
like Sulis Minerva at Bath, each is unique
we have always come to speak with, praise and parley, make offerings to, the goddess of a particular place
this intimate knowledge of the divine

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i always think of dad on this stretch of the Mole, as when up visiting, just before he died, I walked here all the time,
it would have been his birthday today
the blue flash of the insignia of a kingfisher, this miracle irridescence… a gasp, a fleeting dazzle, yes, and he is gone
‘Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song’ the river meanders through the Eliots Wasteland
dad was cremated a mile downstream, the hospice where he died 5 miles further, so much of my childhood pottering along the mole
canoeing with Rich P on boxing day, in wet suits, capsizing somewhere near the weir
floating down the river, cold, laughing

when shamanic journeying, in my imagination I often come to this archetypal british river,
familiar, comforting
alder and willow, streams of slime green water weed, dragon flies, swans and kingfishers
a golden rainbow light of vision

the bridge
bridge other direction

peasblossom redux

peasblossom
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I came across some peasblossom at the end of my run today… it nearly made me cry… not for any murky sorrows, tho they are forever lurking, but just because it was so gorgeous and enchanting
a vibrant pink magenta in colour, like some Thai Airways orchid… hothouse spoilt… preposterous
an escaped cultivar? slumming it amongst the ruffians of ragwort and briar
petals peeking out here, then THERE, far flung further along… betwixt and between the tendrils submarine submerged somewhere beneath the host bush
louche and sprawled throughout the hedgerow, the flowers, like some 1920’s flapper, partied out, collapsed, draped elegantly across a chaise lounge

when we were young my older sister was peasblossom, one of the fairies in midsummers night dream
she had this beautiful, frivolous, lace and tulle pink garment, topped off with a purple pixie cap
i vaguely recall the performance, outdoors, it went on forever, so it seemed to the 5 year old me, i was sitting under a chair…
late late late, yet still light in the sky, so must indeed have been midsummers eve
solstice the endless languish of light
the costume was a staple of the dressing up box throughout my childhood,
that and dads old biggles-esque leather flying helmet, that he, in turn, had worn as a child, the smell rich, leathery, beautiful
oh and a long blonde wig, which dad had foolishly bought for mum, she always had dark short hair, instantly BANISHED to the dressing up box… whatever her opinion of the wig, the four of us all loved it
a box of possibilities?

oh peasblossom unkempt amongst the hedgerow
as we pass through the world, world is straggle pulled through us

away across the field, a swag uddered cow yet to be milked
the gut clutch of being, churn
the raft of thoughts, ego clod hopper lurches across

yet beyond this, all is golden, in its majesty, brimful, somehow swollen
life is imbued by the gentle quality of our cherishing
steady… with poise… toes uncurled, dear Hobbit, bask in this, the endless, endless torrent of presence

……………..

this the bliss, the blossoming of our perpetual becoming

Jog on
Jaw first.. tilted, forward to the future

70’s a few years later

oak

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There are few things more glorious than the feeling of being in an oak wood on the cusp of it coming into leaf.
these trees have belonged in my meditations most mornings recently
Oak, old dodderer, lop-limbed, engrained in gnarl, but now the moment of unfurling of fresh leaf flourish
almost ripped asunder by this wyrd meld… ancient, yet erupting in buoyant exuberance… soul alchemy
aw i’ve missed the oak groves of surrrey (ha, people mbe not so much), round here what trees there are, tend to be beeches, at home on the chalk uplands
frugal fagus, a delight in their own right, yet not much grows beneath the dark shaded canopy of a cathedral of beeches
oaks tend to be more generous, sprawling haphazard euphorias of life!
ashtead common is dotted with old old oaks, most of them are ooh 400 years, for the first few centuries they were pollarded (top branches lopped off) so grew portly stout, then immense
since then, with peaceful neglect, huge limbs have grown up… occasionally these collapse from their own preposterous weight, but the oak, harrumphs, just gets on with it, genteel, beautiful dereliction
others, half burnt, in a fire, throw jagged nightmare scare shapes
a mix of woodland and also more open bracken savanna, guess the ruminants keep the young trees in check? pleasantly mixed and diverse
I suprised a Red Deer in a woodland copse, up close, a substantial beast, it startled, rose from its haunches, then, bounding over branches, gallumphed away… proper medieval! tantaloo! soho!
tho not sure in truth which of us was the more suprised?
a strong, benign, warm gold, masculine energy… the deep grooved bark of quercus, bewhiskered oaks, trees which rumble with thunder (oaks are the species most likely struck by lightning)
aw the colours of the new leaves, vibrant lime, yet tinged with oak apple brown, tannin, there to be seen, a unique harmonious blend of hues
ha, enough of my half ruminated on woodland idyll!
[traditional] our lady of the wood, the goddess, she glides, forever out of reach, assembled, in the soul, from this collage of fleeting sensation… a feeling, soft feathered touch, a glimpse of hair, green mantle glides past, wood anemones flower beneath her feet. blessings