Did I mention that I seem to be writing lots of tree poems lately? Perhaps because we see in them a reflection of our own growth, maturing, aging and death? While enjoying a rootedness we may envy... Trees When I was a child there was a chestnut. Her candles blazed all May long, giving way To tawny rubies casked in spiky green, Her low-arced branches luring me to climb and conquer. Later it was a beech tree I loved best. My auntie had one growing by her gate. Though she had many shapely arms, she called it Venus de Milo for her voluptuous torso And sinewy skin. Next came a birch, slender silver Barred with elegant black, bronze too at her wrists, yet tough as tundra, And in season a shimmer of shivering, Winter-defying gold. There were many more saplings for my spinney, Hornbeams and hollies, lissom willows, Doomed tragedies of elm and ash, Even a few prickly conifers, and then There was rowan… But now I choose you, the oak. Warts and wrinkles, Scars and crags, y...
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On Headley Heath I seem to have been writing a bit about trees lately. I've always loved them, a life form that does not need to think in order to be. The following poem is about two literal trees close to the car park and trailer cafe on Headley Heath. In a poem they are of course metaphorical too, and as reader you can choose which meanings work for you - relationship, endurance, strength through togetherness, faithfulness as a fruitful, not a negative thing. How might a Bible metaphor from Isaiah 61 - "oaks of righteousness, the planting of the Lord" - resonate with you? Two trunks rise into a single canopy A whole summer of sun has Soaked their leaves in gold Which now flames down to earth Autumnally, fire for the dark Where, millionfold, their roots Kiss and commingle and empower Next Spring’s upsurging. How many storms have battered their embraces? How many droughts sucked at their life? How many seasons rippled into rings? How many generations of acorns did they...
Law and Liberty Symbol of rolling liberty This wave’s exact curl And dash upon the shore Is no stampede of freedom: Or deeper where the shark Slides silent in the water His fanged tyranny Has not the sea’s licence: Tide’s thrust and pulling gravity Arrayed each molecule Of the breaker’s curl In precise delineation Of its smash upon the sand While shark is most subject To sea’s voracious law Shaping his deadly torpedo Whose unhindered motion Is desperate necessity – He must swim or die. So our thinking freedom Lives by its limits: This skater accepts the ice With its bruising treachery, Subdues herself to it In months of wearing and Gradually prolongs a curve Or risks a flick – Then can exploit the ice Swooping in its pale sky With our dreams of flight With glide and dizzying spin She has the freedom of the ice. So the unstinting Giver Neither shackles freedom in necessity Nor unmakes order through licence For His full majesty Is His all-mastery And our full liberty.
Furies and Gorgons Blusterless Agamemnon The wind gone from your sails Buy a fair breeze With your daughter’s blood And get a hurricane With talons in it. Medusa rises from the abyss With serpents rising from her hair Each slithering shape gazing With the face of the oppressed: Despised daughters, belittled Sisters, grieving mothers, Abandoned widows and Rejected lovers. Quick, Perseus! Raise your mirror before their stares Strike home into your stony heart.
Mielahti The poem below is connected to the photo above. It was taken at Mielahti, a magical, mirror smooth bay in beautiful lake Jämijärvi in Finland, where I have spent many summers with my family. Somehow light and water are made for each other, aren't they. I'm reminded of the first chapter of Genesis, where the Spirit of God is moving over the primeval waters when God says, "Let there be light." Ever since then light and water have been sisters and friends - just ask Monet. You may have noticed that the interplay of light and water seems to come up in quite a few of the poems in this blog. I hope that together the poem and the photo will give some impression of what I get so excited about. The clouds reflected in the water and the lake reflected in the sky are mirrors of God's presence manifesting in us and of our consciousness embraced in His unfathomably deep awareness - for "in Him we live and move and have our being." I hope it works for you too...
Victoria Gardens, Westminster Gathering angels of light that leap Sun sparked from the river I put my hand to them, but cannot keep. Dances on me first fellowship of light and the Spirit-brooded water when God first spoke His poem into night. The seats hulk here of administration of economy and law of generalisation and specification. If they could see inside my head, they'd think I'm bonkers, chasing the sunbeams, dancing on the river's brimming brink But they don't understand and cannot stay this light or anyone's heart - I and the Spirit laugh, hold hands and run away.
Bottom I hope that others look on me as deep, Witty, perhaps, serene and debonair: But I’m known by the company I keep And I’ve got you behind me everywhere. Others I try to approach with dignity To give a good impression to their mind: I turn to go, another view of me Presents – yours is the face I leave behind. My softest paper shows consideration, I faithfully transport you to the loo: Why must you interrupt my conversation And air what hardly passes for your view? Prelates and professors, potentates, Please don’t look down on me for my poor bottom: Bezos, Mark Zuckerberg, and William Gates, And Taylor Swift - you all know you’ve got ‘em. Almighty Lord, that has made all things well, You know our secrets, however we may hide. You did not wish our thoughts to preen and swell: You gave us bottoms to bring down our pride.