Tuesday, June 3, 2008

This Life

Bare feet treading on shiny, frosted glass
- Green and hard just like chalk and
Heading over square patches and land
But soft to the touch of lime-stones
- comes the call of the buzzard and the red-kite
sharp and distinct the echoes of their flight
traveling far and high in the light;
- a duet reaches deep blue agate & granite...

Scattered purple petals falling free
- into the Great River and Ravine
Trickling into the constant rhythm of life,
- Who will hear the murmur of little streams?
Wings beating against the constant rush of air
the shadow touching distant blue hills
- swerving ever higher into the air...

Small lives, big lives
Who is such as an oyster who lives
- below the cave and above the sea-current?
Caught between Oronsey and Galtrigal
a life of tides and spring
Will it be watched over by Maidens of the isles
- Alone or gathered up in the arms of kelp?

Not far from the Talisker's Watch
- A rock alive in the waves
The human mind begins to grip the simple truth
- Of Understanding
Fragments of what we are meant to see
- visited by the truth, but frequently unseen
And we remember once again, to let go of some
- hold on to some
And forget why and which way
we were inclined to go...

In This Life.

1 comment:

Brother Tobias said...

Evocative, polished poems, Foofy. (Well, the first two anyway). What is it about the Galtrigills of this world, that they so inspire the Muse...whomsoever one is with?