Nature

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.

 

 

 

Icarus

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Kingsbrae 13.4
13 June 2017

Icarus

Such a miracle,
those first steps
of the sea-bird’s flight,
lurching his launch
over troubled water.

That first step heavy,
the second lighter,
and the third
scarcely
a paint brush
pocking the waves.

Deep within me,
I sense the need
to fly, to soar, to rise
high in the sky
and seek the sun.

I don’t care
if the sun’s heat
melts the wax
that binds my wings
and sends me
tumbling down,
a shooting star
falling
from the firmament.

A second sun,
I’ll be,
stunning in my sunset,
burning a glorious
path to death in my decline.

Myth Magic

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Kingsbrae 13.3
13 June 2017

Myth Magic

This old world, born again,
renewing itself before my eyes.
My hands reach out to touch it
and I feel it grow beneath my fingers,
so soft, so sensitive,
and my memories as wild
as the delicate deer that tumble
and run to enter the gardens
and plunder red roses
from the holy of holies.

Some days, the warm earth
trembles as those old gods walk again,
Orpheus, Pan, Diana by moonlight,
Narcissus perishing by the pond.

 In our Secret Garden,
Robin song still haunts and enchants me.
Echo calls back from a not-so-distant past
and her voice lingers among birdsong,
soft and long.

Aurora Borealis

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Kingsbrae 13.2
13 June 2017

Aurora Borealis

Some nights,
when you close your eyes
and open your ears and mind,
the miracle happens.

The sky breaks apart,
explodes in color,
and all the hard slabs
in your little child’s
paint box
become liquid assets,
covering the sky
from top to bottom
in a curtain of chroma
that saturates the mind
with its trickle
-down luminosity.

Pity the poor stars
on nights like these,
their beauty, like
love’s labors,
lost, as we drift,
our senses set free
in this amniotic,
shapeless sea:
bound by music,
song and light.

Seagull

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Kingsbrae 12.4
12 June 2017

Seagull

Seagull on the wind
wing tip tilted
for maximum lift

Wheeling up and away
the gull-wing sway of him
climbing his celestial staircase
in a rush of blue air

Light his flight steps
danced to wind music
played over beach and wave

Watch him wave good-bye
with a waggle of his wings
and a well-judged flick
his sea gull tail painting
neat brush strokes

Comment: Looking through my notebook, I saw the original of this poem, scribbled while I sat in the car, waiting for my friend. I re-read it and admired its simplicity. So I copied it here. The earlier poem I wrote, with the same title, Seagull, is more worked and much more elaborate. You can find it here. I would be interested to know which of the two versions you prefer. A second question: can they both stand as separate poems, even though they overlap in their inspiration and imagery? Let me know what you think.

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Kingsbrae 12.3
12 June 2017

Fire Hazard

Sad the sacked shack
fire-blackened its bones
still standing its carapace
a reminder
Carpe Diem
of what can happen
when the wilderness breaks in
and shatters our illusions

From flames’ first flicker
tongues of fire lapping
painted wood
raised the alarm
but late too late the firemen

How many houses die this way
how many homes get carried away
in a moment’s flicker of flame
occupants hands burned
nameless their faces forgotten
and
over one and over all
this hot south wind
reeling us in
instigating
instant regret
and
terminal madness

Whitecaps

 

15 May 2002 Pre-Rimouski 277

Kingsbrae 12.2
12 June 2017

Whitecaps

… white-capped the waves,
pushed inland by a strong,
warmth-bearing wind, and hazy
the crazy paving sky, with its
cloud figments floating,
lazy, the heat, with summer’s
heavy hand now sudden upon
sea and land, wave upon wave,
this heat wave, holding us now,
as wind-tied, the tide, strives to flee
but cannot free itself from wind
-grip, and bit between teeth, white
horses cap the waves, leave seaweed
stranded high and dry in fierce sun
-glow, Irish Moss and Madcap Dulce,
their iodine tang fulfilled on chance
winds that blow us willy-nilly, this way,
that way, any way the wind blows …

Dawn

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Kingsbrae 12.1
12 June 2017

Dawn

… early morning sunshine
creepy-crawly spider leg rays
climbing over window and wall
my bed-nest alive to light
not night’s star twinkle
but the sun’s egg breaking
its golden yolk
gilding sheet and pillow
billowing day dreams
through my still sleepy head …

… the word feast festering
gathering its inner glimpses
interior life of wind and wave
the elements laid out before us
our banquet of festivities
white the table cloth
golden the woodwork’s glow
mind and matter polished
and the sun show shimmering
its morning glory on garden and porch …

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.