December Evening

December Evening

Dusk walk, out from the woods
over wide fields, a stile, a path
skirting the Iron Age fort,
coastline snaking away from us
both ways, we see wide sky
smeared with cloud and light –
rain stroking the land’s horizon
sun bursting in patches of gold
on a sea suddenly empty of ships
while in the bay, sea sits in heavy
battleship grey, unmoving -

Everything today has two sides –
we walk, you and I, with two dogs,
one black, one white, hurtling in circles
over the high green hill - they follow
you out onto the concrete jetty
where beach becomes water –
I stay on the shore and watch the rain
come in over your dark form –
in the distance, St Anthony’s Lighthouse
slowly blinks as darkness dissolves
today’s bright moments. The moon
almost at her quarter is blown away
by clouds, our footprints soon to be
washed away by rain.

Birds

Cormorant

The Chinese put a ring round your throat
so they can steal any fish you’ve caught

through your quickness – today in the distance
I see you turn your zig-zag neck and beak

into an eyelash, a black arc slipping
the grey wave. When you are too light to dive,

so I read, you swallow pebbles for weight.
Last summer, I saw five of you form the shape

of a star, drop in formation, cutting the sea
as if it were paper, and you characters

in an Oriental language, writing of the heft
of the water you part, the cost of the fish you yield.

9th December 2009

And Joy Befell Me

And Joy Befell Me

Some confusion as we queued at the altar -
suddenly ushered forward by the pretty verger
as the priest approached, to the middle of the rail -
sweet symmetry - and as I knelt - tout de suite,

the host arrived, melted on my tongue, the flesh, the light
her swinging pony tail, all the people, all as one.

Sunday 6th December 2009

Maenporth

Home

For a pair of swans

seven cignets

and all the creatures

out of sight,

this low tide,

this grey water

and softening sky

is house enough

and all they need to live by.

Maenporth Beach 22nd September

Looking for Beauty

Summer colours going now
brightness sinking into green
and grey - memories weigh
heavier than the future
and yet, again the gift, today.

Last Sunday

Yesterday on the water with friends
Everything smooth, all anxiety fled
Beauty above, below, around us
All past and future in the now and blessed.

Blackberrying

Their ripening comes faster now
black clusters of berries
so redolent of my childhood
and teenage years. They greet
and reproach me each summer

It's impossible not to pick
them, stew them with sugar
feel the burst of bitterness
and sweetness on my morning tongue.

Stone Circle

Standing stones, sky, grass

moving clouds, hedgerow, path -

where I passed and came again

something's changed

yet stays the same.

Fugitive

The fugitive sun's returned -

we all come out to look at him

neighbours on their doorstep

joke 'Sshh, don't mention it!'.

Dogs walk face up to the clear sky,
there's a sudden scatter of mushrooms

burgeoning near the path

and on the pavement by my door

a pound coin I didn't drop, gleaming.

Beach Party

Cold swim, clear water, boats, old friends

Dogs, children, shared food on paper plates

Tall trees, fires, light on water, talk, song

A couple deep in love, blazing candles on her birthday cake.

Bees

Now threatened, every bee
on the lavender bush
is a gift, small hint of life,
sunshine, golden jars
of honey to come.

The Past

The past is more than one other country.

Here's one I walked in, alone, so no one

I know remembers the heat or which way to go.

Yesterday, I revisited another country

through talk with a man from a third -

those days are mine alone although maybe I passed

his father there, walking slowly through deep snow.

Grey, grey

Grey, grey, here to stay

Hasn't heard of other days

Grey, grey, won't go away

Grey - tell me what you've got to say.

Small Garden

Yesterday, Cornwall felt small

the house too small, my life

too small. I went into my small

backyard and photographed

small flowers - just pinks in a pot -

each one a miracle, a universe.

Granite

Where we see cliffs and permanance
she saw possibility and change

Where we see labour beyond endurance
she saw what three people, a wheelbarrow
and vision could do

When she leant, tall, gaunt, almost ninety
against the theatre she'd made
light suffused her - that's the light I long for.

Blue

Trebah

Three acres of hydrangeas

tumble down the valley -

their purpose is turning rain

into flowering bundles of blue

letting loose their brief beauty

so we pass by, smiling, tipsy with blue.

Waves

Last night I dreamed
a child and I were sent
to retrieve a frozen statue.
I saw a tsunami coming our way -
a mighty grey wave - I stood a chance,
with a rail to hold on tight to -
the boy, I knew, would be gone -
I held and waited, waited and held -
the wave just melted away
into air and the usual sway of the sea -
leaving us unharmed, the boy and me.

Home, again, again

Slipping

The seventh month slipping by,
me slipping in and out of my life,
half lived here, half lived there
in slipstreams mostly sliding by -
the river's course flows elsewhere.

Home again

Exotic

Like a plant brought here
from a faraway land
I found a crack in a wall
to hold my roots ...

Ten years on, I've grown
too big for this wall - I need hands
to lift me before I fall -
sun and rain to grow new shoots.

Sails

White sheets on the line

are a sign of spring -

gathering wind, light and air -

I pull them towards my winter face

and breath in freedom.

Change

Today they're removing

section by section,

the old sycamore

next to the church.

For three summers

I've stared from my bedroom

at its buds, birds

and complicated leaves.

For three winters

I've watched from my window

its bare branches

scratching the sky.

Now the view is clear -

the open sea

and all her promises.

Time to set sail.

Candlemas

2nd February 2009

Every candle in the cathedral burned

every person held a lit candle

the music rolled past like a molten river

carrying away the dark, the cold

with warmth and light and love.

Silence

Silence

Last day of January
dawn breaking as I write
still too late for comfort

My breath, the computer’s whirr
an occasional gull crying
no words spoken

January’s leaving silently
with her Janus-face

no apology, no explanation
not even saying goodbye.

Streets

Streets

I’ve shunned the urban
for muddy tracks and beaches

I’ve fallen asleep in a castle
behind high hedges of thorns

Now, I’m ready for people
to see beauty

in Falmouth’s well-made streets.

Blue

Blue

The colour of sadness
the music of oppression
today transformed
by the hard-working sea
into sky and spring

Perspective

Perspective

Sunday 18th January

For years, I have walked the lower path -
today, avoiding mud, we went over the hill.

I saw my town anew
from a vantage point I’d never been to.

How beautiful it is.

Fugitive

Fugitive

Like light on the path
wrens in the brambles
sun in the sky
my poems escape me –
there then gone.

Iris

Iris

I see blue and mauve
the artist sees cerulean and bishop’s violet
I see bloom and fade
God sees us coming nearer home

Trust

Trust

No moon
but light enough to walk the steep path to the shore

No moon
but silver gliding over the waves

No moon
though clouds ached with wanting to let light through

A glimpse of her round face
then gone again, not returning that night

Instead soft rain, warmer air, friends round a fire
and knowledge that somewhere she’s there.

Bare

I am late posting as I've had a difficult week, unable to settle to tasks, feeling lonely, restless. This poem is from Sunday:

I take down the decorations
lift tinsel from pictures
wrap glass globes
box colour, light and love
set free the patient tree
to breath the winter air
create space for what may come
make bare the room

Connections

My Trail - Wales

Basho's Trail - Japan

The two photographs above are so similar. At this time of year, I am always reflective, thinking about the past and how the future might be. The idea that Basho walked steps like I walked and that later we were moved to write poems seems to make a connection that transcends here, now, us, them - we are all on this journey.

Far apart, in time, in space
all of us climb the same steps
see the same seasons
try to make sense of lost leaves,
ourselves, our journeys.

Ache

A short one today - my little dog still not recovered and feeling shaken by the powerful film Changeling I saw last night - thinking how to protect the vulnerable, the innocent, the angels all around us ...

Ache

Love is an ache
letting down the one I love
hurts

The Dead

This photo was taken in November but the feeling of loss, of everything falling, applied to New Year's Day yesterday.

The Dead

The New Year’s here.
So many people I loved are not
and neither is the me I used to be -
I miss us all.