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.