Kingsbrae 11.1
11 June 2017
Dawn
Early morning sunshine
creepy-crawly its spider
-limb rays, as it climbs
over window and wall
My bed nest alive to light
not moonlight nor
night’s star twinkle but
the sun’s egg breaking
its golden yolk gilding
sheet and pillow as day
-dreams cast flickering
shadows black and white
on the cave wall screens
lining my still sleepy head
Kingsbrae 10.4
10 June 2017
Painting
for
Geoff Slater
I took a line for a walk.
It was
as disobedient as
an untrained puppy on a leash,
as crazy as a kite
in a wind-filled sky,
as joyful as
a schoolboy when they cancel school,
as easy as
pie when the R is squared.
The dog walks round in circles,
gets my legs caught in his leash.
The kite, all twisted strings,
comes tumbling down a ladder of sky.
The apple pie is a pulled-up sheet,
folded double, and I am a child again,
trapped in my boarding school bed.
“Color me now,” my painting cries
and I fill the spaces between the lines:
blue for happiness, blue for hope;
yellow for the lion mane of the sun;
red for the redbreast;
brown for the worm;
and green for schoolboy freedom
at the end of term.
Journal: I had the great pleasure of working with Geoff Slater this afternoon. He sat me down at his painting table, alongside all the children, and gave me a palette, brushes, water, cleaning paper, and a rainbow of paint. Then he placed an easel and a canvas before me and put an apron on me to protect me from the paint. “Go for it,” he said. I looked at a field of white … and I remembered … “Drawing is taking a line for a walk” … so I drew a line, first a beak, and then a head and an eye, then I added wings, and legs … it was wonderful. The children were laughing with me and I was slapping the paint around with great delight. “Let me see, let me see,” they cried. And then, when they saw it: “What is it?” It was even more fun when I started to fill the spaces between the lines. This is, or was, the first time I have ever placed paint upon a canvas. In my old age, I have started to paint. “Is it a worm or a fish?” they asked. “Is the bird going to eat it?” “Is the bird spitting it out?” Such curiosity … and even I didn’t know the answers. “What’s the bird’s name?” asked one little girl. “Eagle-eye,” said the other. “And the worm’s called Squirmy,” added a third. “Are they talking?” another chimed in. “Yes,” I said. “I think they’re friends and they’re having a chat.” What fun. We left the painting out in the sun to dry … and now I don’t know where it’s gone. Let me know if you see it, anyone.
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.
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.
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
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.”
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.
Kingsbrae 9.2
9 June 2017
AWOL
Two days ago,
earthworms squirmed wet
through pock-marked puddles.
Yesterday,
they lay shriveled,
dried out and dying
on the sun-warmed drive.
Today,
grey skies greet us.
The sun has gone on walkabout.
Absent without leave,
he has abandoned us again
and left our world
shivering in the shadows.
Will all those dead worms
come back to life
and squirm through the puddles
forecast for tonight?
Tomorrow,
who knows what will happen?
Rivers and seas continue to rise,
water threatens to drown the land,
and we dream of the second coming:
Noah and his spaceship Ark.
Kingsbrae 9.1
9 June 2017
Love Spoon
Celtic the Knot
binding heart and soul
the love spoon
carved
by caring hands
Sharp moon blade
honed by the wind
white
wooden clouds
flowing against
dark sky grain
Sweet surge
time and tide
tied together
knotted
our heart strings
twisted our love
forever in this
Celtic Knot
Comment: Celtic Knot is the name of one of the more formal gardens at Kingsbrae. It is also one of the symbols carved into Welsh Love Spoons and signifies eternal love. Carving the love spoon was one of the traditional tasks given to the young man when he asked for the hand of his beloved in marriage. In addition to showing craftsmanship and woodcarving skill, the task of carving the wood spoon kept the young man’s hands occupied while he was courting. Parents would then be able to check on the progress of the love spoon and ensure that their daughter’s virtues were in safe and trustworthy hands.
Kingsbrae 8.4
8 June 2017
Le Pont Mirabeau
(click for French original)
The Seine flows down beneath Mirabeau Bridge
and so does our love
must I be reminded yet again
that happiness always follows pain
Let night descend let the hours sound
the days go by but I’m still around
Hand in hand let us stay here face to face
while beneath the bridge of our arms
our gazes interlock
like river waves flowing
Let night descend let the hours sound
the days go by but I’m still around
Love flows away like these flowing waves
love flows away
how slowly life passes
and hope is so brutal
Let night descend let the hours sound
the days go by but I’m still around
Days flow by and weeks flow by
nor times past nor former loves
come back again
under Mirabeau Bridge flows the Seine
Let night descend let the hours sound
the days go by but I’m still around
Comment: I spent the school year in Paris in 1962-1963 and I have always wanted to translate Le Pont Mirabeau from French into English. Today, I found both the time and energy to do so. It’s not a great translation, but it is mine. Click on one of the links above to get the French original.
