Boundary Wall “Something there is that doesn’t love a wall”. “He moves in darkness as it seems to me.” Robert Frost, Mending Wall. My neighbour calls to ask my time To inspect the wall That runs between his house and mine. I follow his bent back, Behind which tight-clasped, His hands are counter-weight It seems…
Song for Joe Nora had not been dead long when her cottagewas burned downHer net curtains at the small windows stillthe sacred heart of Jesus on the walllooking downThe charred reed fell but the walls stillwithstood the wind somewhatThe fireplace and the chimney tower remainedwith ash and beech growing from out the roofThe heart on…
Atlantic Depression (A riff on Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18) “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?… Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May” (Sonnet 18, William Shakespeare.) Hawthorns show white May buds just opening in our eyes we try the walk before the threatened gale you anxious to make photos with your phone…
Being the Bulb Planted in the Autumn Being the bulb planted in the Autumn inserting the planter cutting out the core of turf placing the small bulb in the pit of the dug out earth fill it in with the rotted compost mixed with leaf-mould and clay Treading it all in with my booted foot…
Bone People Bone People “E nga iwi o nga iwi” (O the people of the bones) Keri Hulme, “The Bone People” 1984 “proximity can create transformation”, Ocean Vuong. Flat on our backs we become aware of breath feeling the body parts that are touching the mat Heel pelvis…
William’s reply to my first blog with this title inspired me to say a little more about my approach to Yoga and Meditation. This is a very personal point of view and probably diverges from strict Yoga teachings. Meditation too, for me, has to be almost tailor made to the individual, as Sister Ishpriya says,…
More Than Imagining I Try To Be When I imagine the lakeand the fields and the treesand the murderous foxesand dead hensand the proud fatallywounded cockereland the snowdrops hiddenunder the Bay TreeI swim in the dead dry lakea fish now on dry stonethe walls of the smalldead-end roadsurrounding me walkingno hedgerows just rockand nettle roots…
1 In Tom Stoppard’s play of 1972, “Jumpers”, a major theme is the advance of materialism and the reduction of anything spiritual or theological (like God for example) to either nonsense, an aspect of sociology or of psychology. The university chapel has been turned into a gymnasium and, as George, the Professor of Moral Philosophy,…
Guelder-rose “No wonder of it: sheer plod makes plough down sillion Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear, Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion.” Hopkins, “The Windhover” Here in the garden a circumference of five petalled flowers a pure white sterile corona and then within a hub of of micro flowers pollenous and fertile almost…
From the Poetry Garden 4 Here is the 4th. Session from the Poetry Garden. The first poem “In Ennerdale” (for Jenny) is already on this blog, the second new poem “Guelder-rose” is not. I can send you a copy or wait and I will put it up on here soon. It is my first…
From The Poetry Garden 3 Here is the third visit to the Poetry Garden. My friend Matthew in San Francisco has a series of YouTube presentatations made out in the Wilderness, near the Yuba River, I think, in the Sierras of California, called The Rheomode Series a YouTube playlist. One of my poems here is…
This is the second “From the Poetry Garden” reading: we have tried to improve the sound, which was poor last time. The poem about the house s an old one, put on mostly for an introdution to the environment of the garden. The second poem ” Deep Time Rising” is more important for me. “Deep…
This is the first of a series which I have called “From The Poetry Garden”. We have a quiet seat in the garden of The Anchorhold surrounded by a Cedar of Lebanon and the small various Christmas Trees used in the house at Christmas, which we then plant; there are four at the moment which…
An on-line group I joined to explore our relationship with the Earth was given a project to write “A Love Letter to the Earth”. I didn’t want to do this and at first couldn’t quite explain why. I thought it was “blissy”, that is, emotionally sentimental. I have, like most people, written love letters…
Considering the Snail The snail pushes through a green night, for the grass is heavy with water and meets over the bright path he makes, where rain has darkened the earth’s dark. He moves in a wood of desire, pale antlers barely stirring as he hunts. I cannot tell what power is at…
The Hug of Gaia 