Running in the slow lane
All through the night – relentless and totally dark. Our 375 year house sits on a high ridge and it does feel like we are sometimes under siege .
A gusting wind
Exhales in bursts
The rain
Like knives spears the dark
Ricochets off ancient walls.
To the keeper of the keys.
The pulsating night
Drinks in thirst
The slates
Vibrate in constant thrum
Relentless cries those riven squalls
This castle under siege.
Beneath the woodland floor
You look for more
Stare at the grey:
A moon from outer space;
Another web ;another world
Skeins unfurled
Drawn of fine strands
And white fungal lace;
I could trance the soil away
See The kingdom of the grey
Appear now and then
Gossamer threads that trace.
Inspired after reading a chapter of Underland by Robert Macfarlane this morning .
Trace fossils carried with us Marks of those we loved, and those we did not ever know; Faded handwriting on an envelope A string of pearls broken though Worn crests on silver cutlery Names and places Census returns Trace is what we carry- what we yearn Like the map on our skin Filling the void left behind .
The blush pink sky twists the forecast
Wrapping the clouds in ominous hue
There’s clarity in warning
The air is still
Birdsong is active
Shrill cries of the blackbird cut through
Too sharp are the angulations of the fields
Carving lines of clipped brown hedges with shards of gold
Acid green are the fields
Under the low winter sun
Transient patterns
About to change to
A wall of grey.
Well another year of highs and lows.
The Highs : publishing my book of poetry -, the arrival of whippet puppy Pepper , our daughter’s graduation which had been postponed for a year, the new greenhouse for the garden.
The lows 12 months ago today we said a final goodbye to Dad at a covid restricted funeral. I have taught through two lockdowns this year facing weeks of online lessons and endless recording . 12 months on and we still face restrictions and uncertainty.
We pray for a better 2022 and thank all of you for your tremendous support of my poetry. I have loved being part of this very special community.
Whilst spume filled waves pound the harbour wall
Grey seals languish in the swirling grey
Fluid their bodies move in time to the surge of the sea in effortless syncopation
A dive beneath the huge waves
Refutes the dangers
so close to rocks
Rising with silver fish aloft
Rolling over and over in play
A tide waits for no man
Relentless it rolls
Thrusting it’s energy
To weakened defence
One is at odds; the other in union.
Old trappings blow through the fingers of the wind
Memories cling to bare branches
As the ivy curls braids
And ties bows.
Winter sharpens the breath of time
And the cold cuts steal
Geese shout songs on the wing.
Through darkened days
Foxed and etched
Light is a silvered mirror-
A reflection of who we are
And who we are to be.
The focus shifts
To stir the soul.
calligraphies
lines traced in swirls of black ink
messengers of love
Loved present wrapping this year in a more sustainable way.
it peppers the sky
hammering against the glass
a gaoler of light
Ruth Partridge