Reason- there is no reason We cannot comprehend; Where there was certainty There lies a gaping hole- An emptiness too big to fill; Reason - there is no reason- We want to shout it out. We cry without sound. It’s too big, Our voice too small. Questions, but no answers Drift on the breath Of silence; But listen- On the wings of the dove Peace descends, In a still small voice That fills the space; We are held When we are falling By threads so fine The strands that tie, That hold us fast Where we belong; Connect us to those who love us still; Beyond the mists of time, We trace the stars across the sky, The clouds that part, The light that shines, And find our way That guides us home.
When the wind abates Earth her claw relents From pounding gusts That tear Wreck and havoc make Of plants torn from their roots flattened Cast adrift Stricken vessels in the night A spun whirlpool of debris flung Of shredded leaves and twigs And grasses arched like waves Fall limp in strands And spent;
Listen to the noise Feel the shifting sands The pounding starts again Creaking corners of the house The trembling of the frames Flickering distant lights The night is long- awake.
The soft dust of icing In the valley Shrunken to the margins of the fields Laid down in stealth through the Darkened hours A purple stillness which Later to the sun will yield And warmth will reign the day along For now the sky is powdery and cool The ground compact and hard.
Golden,the final flourish under The billowing stratus cloud, Captures a Midas touch As if a net is cast And the light is flung into space By an almighty hand, Blessing the Earth in beauty As pigeon and dove sit still, The cows again are silenced In deepening shades of green As the wind from the East abates At the ending of the day.
Transition from fells to Mountainside is stark; Suddenly the air is sharp- Sinking temperature; Silence - total silence; Gone the chatter of the larks Muted, the white dots of lambs far below, Simply the scuff of tread on stone, The crunch over stems of spent heather And steady deliberate breath; As the angle changes And the mighty outline Of sandstone rocks juxtaposed Is exposed; An eminence in angular form Towers above And carves out the sky.
This has taken a while to perfect – it came from a walk last evening down a twisting lane and the size of this tree commanded such a presence over the valley. Speaking to our host, he tells me that he always greets this tree and wonders himself what the tree has witnessed over the centuries.
The mighty oak Commands the view Huge in girth,the ages span Secrets tightly held within- Carrying the map of a life on its skin, A heart,concentric in finely banded rings When wide,signals a year of plenty; Narrowed the scars of misfortune emptied, Growing through famine and tempest strengthened; In civil war, a poet’s tune Plain heard across this upland scene Through the canopy of green; And lamentations of shepherds’ dreams Have presented laboured to those heavy boughs, Recalling storms, of winters long: Ewes who strayed,the price is wrong Of lambs a year along And moonlit meetings held in song; In its shadow, messages whispered , A lover’s tryst; As carts and gigs rattled so, Servant girls, that way have passed, lingering there to gossip fast, A breath to last; Train whistle; rattling tram, Came and went in puffs of smoke This tree breathed the fumes of coal and ore Cleaned the air that would choke The mighty Coity oak; Through change and centuries Strength imbued And strong and mighty has it grown, Now most quintessentially known A king upon the pastoral throne .
Ruth Partridge 