Gardens

Peace

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Kingsbrae 14.3
14 June 2017

Peace

Everywhere I go, distractions.
I-phones bleep, fingers touch
screens, instant news breaks
sound waves on an endless
shore, noise, more noise, car
radios, heavy metal, hard rock.

I must flee now to the gardens.
I must seek out the robin’s song,
find the liquid notes of the water
thrush, search for the oriole’s
magic voice, the cardinal’s
colorful chorus. Not for me the
cheap tweet of the twitter-verse:
better by far the soulful summer
sounds of the natural universe.

 

Wordless Wednesday

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Kingsbrae 14.2
14 June 2017

Wordless Wednesday

All sound has run dry in my
song-sparrow throat.
Words and music no longer flow.
They need eaux de vie,
the waters of life.

Water from a bucket, perhaps,
though I cannot stoop to fill,
nor carry it, without spilling.

A hosepipe, then, though I need
to bend to make the connections
and turn the tap on, and alas,
I am too old and stiff to bend.

Rain, perhaps, though today
it must fall from a cloudless sky.
Who could pray for rain on a day
like today, with sun warming earth
and flowers and my old bones
basking, wordless in the warmth.

I long for the word drought to end.
Silent I shall sit and wait for the word
-well to fill itself with those spiritual
waters flowering and flowing deep within.

 

 

 

Chronotopos

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Kingsbrae 13.1
13  June 2017

Chronotopos

plant a plant
deep its roots
rooted in fine soil
potting soil in a pot
firm the fingers
the spot well-chosen
in a flower bed
in a pattern
in an empty space
in a growing garden
within a larger garden
in an old estate
in a small town by the sea

Russian doll puzzle
garden after garden

(one a secret
with its birds and voices
lost in the hedgerow
and the echoes
of secret meetings
watched only by the guardian
the robin that watches)

planted and replanted
unfolding flowers
in a sunshine world
in a state of grace
hope and handicraft
hand in hand
with faith and belief
and everything planned
to take advantage
of this time and this space

these words so simple
these thoughts so complex

Comment: I began this poem on  10 March 2017. It formed part of my initial poetry sequence with Kingsbrae unseen, save for videos and photos of the gardens and their history, viewed on the Kingsbrae website. As I have grown into the KIRA experience, or perhaps I should write ‘as the Kingsbrae experience has blossomed within me’, so I have found these words prophetic, yet strangely inadequate, in the way all words are inadequate when tides flow, days flourish, and ideas blossom, sometimes in that formless world between sleep and dream where reality is something for which the writer reaches out but finds it is beyond the fingertips and just out of reach. As my Judo instructor told me, a long time ago:

“The more you strive,
you cannot reach it.
The hand cannot grasp it,
nor the mind exceed it.
When you no longer seek it,
it is with you.”

Giving Back

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Kingsbrae 11.4
11 June 2017

Giving Back

In the beginning was the wind,
and the wind created waves,
whitecaps on wild waters
with sunlight dancing a tiptoe
hornpipe, heel and toe, landwards
towards the headland where the
lighthouse grows from rough and
ready rock, its light cast on water
and returned fourfold in the yellow
moon path, step after stepping stone,
golden from sea to gardens with
their marigold path leading to
house and home and the banquet
spread before them, so solemn the altar,
this day of all days, when we celebrate
our lost and loved ones with bread
cast, like light, out upon the waters
and tenfold always our love returned.

Therapy Garden

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Kingsbrae 10.3
10 June 2017

Therapy Garden

Sitting, absent-minded, empty,
waiting for the sunlight to heal
my old bones and fill my fragile form
with light so that I may shine,
a lighthouse on the land,
light pouring out from me,
light enough to enlighten
the unenlightened
in their soul’s dark endless
night, no moon, no stars,
and me, walking unafraid,
knowing I need fear nothing,
even in terminal darkness,
for my body now overflows
with therapeutic light
that floats its boat on an inner
sea of tranquility.

Journal: Wandering the gardens on a warm sunny day, just taking in the fresh air and the sunshine. I stopped in the tranquility Garden and sat  a bench in the shade and wrote these words. They again very “raw” and I may well revisit them. Comments gratefully accepted.

Mist

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Kingsbrae 10.2
10 June 2017

Mist

Tisty-tosty ,
this morning mist,
white wisps
blindfolding bushes,
draping our world
with silent birds.

Eyes out of focus,
we squint
at shape and form,
mystery in the magic
of movement,
the air a-shimmer,
spider webs glistening.

Long lost sailors
return from distant seas,
dead warriors wake,
our ancestors walk
backwards in time
to greet us
in this mythical
dreamland that swathes
our senses,
wrapping us
in the mystery of mist.

Pan pipes:
a melancholy melody ,
memories
moving among the reeds.

Word Blooms

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Kingsbrae 10.1
10 June 2017

Word Blooms

Snow
a blank page
below it
dormant bulbs
paint box colors
waiting to awake

Watchful
the gardener’s eyes
eager her helping hands
rainbows the flowers
pushing into bloom

Words
also wait for the sun
to warm them
to pluck them
from their word beds
and give them shape

Light
and delightful
the word seeds
blown across the world
implanted their ideas

Words
taking root
their blossoms
blooming sudden
in the reader’s mind

 

Word Blooms Voice Only

Word Blooms Music

Scent and Touch

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Kingsbrae 9.4
9 June 2017

Scent and Touch

A feather upon the cheek,
this fern frond held
fragile, hesitant
between fine fingers.

Touch and smell:
two senses engaged.
A paint brush sounds,
brush-brushing lightly
the expectant skin.

Faint the taste tested
suggestive
on tongue tip.
No sight, just insight.

I have a sense of senses lacking.
My words reach out like fingers,
but they can neither retain
nor explain the meaning of it all.

Comment: “Built in cooperation with the Canadian National Institute for the Blind, the Scents and Sensitivity Garden is dedicated to the memory of St. Andrews’ resident Albert McQuoid. The garden features raised beds that allow handicapped, sight impaired, and wheelchair bound visitors the opportunity to enjoy the feel, and scent, of the plants and flowers right within arms’ reach.”

Labyrinth

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King’sbrae 9.3
9 June 2017

Labyrinth

What thread will lead
blind Theseus
this labyrinth through?

Light the ladybird sun
caressing his one cheek
the other in shadow.

Fanciful the bumble bee,
heard but not seen
its miracle of ponderous,
heavier-than-air flight

Sight-blessed,
life’s obstacle course:
a flat track frolic
for all those confident
of foot and touch.

Listen to the ladybird:
she cracks her wings
and launches upwards
to join her companion,
the bee, twin specks
together now in the sky.

Words

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Kingsbrae 8, 2
8 June 2017

Words

Here, on the seashore,
the whisper of waves,
splashed with a flash of sun,
wind fingering the hair,
the light a delight,
and wordless this world
though its beauty be
configured in words.

The scything of the sea,
the land seized in snippets,
grey stones, red rocks,
gelatinous mudflats
blue on white striations.

Seagull wings
snipping celestial ribbons,
salt caked keen on lips,
sea weed scents sensed
yet never seen.

Captivated we stand here,
unattached our single wings,
save to this singular beauty:
peregrine the falcon soul,
so solitary as it soars.

Comment: So many of these new poems are just that, “new” and “raw”. Words, for example, is just a couple of hours old. That is the gift of time that I have been given. The writing process is so rapid that there is little time to digest the last thought and image sequence, before the next comes tumbling along. I guess it’s just a question of rolling merrily along and we’ll see later what we still think is fit for survival. The selecting of these poems will be an interesting task … and who will select the selectors …