Pilgrimage

It began with a journey to start with.
A cold wind blows from the moors,signals 
The approach of rain.
A season which stops and starts- 
I travel;but to nowhere really.
After a death there’s not much left-
We’re spent.Locked down,there’s more disquiet there. 
Still,the season tries to turn,
Held back:I’m holding back.
Someone once spoke,’It’s ordained,there is one entrance to life,but many exits.’I’ve seen a few.
Many stories;my story.
Other lives and mine entwined as
We journey together. 
Pilgrimage sharpens the mind.The focus is inward,a self assessment of Who I am,procurement of what I really need, not what I think I do. 
When stripped of all we have,there’s almost
Nothing left.
We’re rather visible, translucent with a  paper-thin exterior
-God knows.
Whichever route we choose-
The Camino de Santiago or staycation at home,change comes.
Renewal builds energy and strengthens relationships,defining 
Who we are to be. 
Have I seen saints along the way? Do you see them?The coffee seller yesterday spoke of lamentations and moving on.A doorstop interchange.
Snatched conversations with people are more open-a simpler life,
Purer somehow and less tied up, hindered by stereotype or lack of Expectation.
Clocks spring forward.
I move forward with the Ressurection journey too.
Awakened and fresh, renewed with  poignancy and vigour- immediacey.It needs to be; we have one life,and to
Live it to the full is what draws us home.

Setting Moon

A ribbon
Soft ambient glows  
Lighting the cloud
Diffused spectre of white
Nonchalant this early morning
Purple the sky
With a sudden radiance shines forth 
In regal  magnificence and fullnes
This golden orb
A stately entrance makes  
Transforming  from pale cream 
To burnished bronze 
A wisp of cloud forming a smile across
The perfect face
Taking the stage 
A jewel in the sky
But she cannot stay
Her time has come 
She descends in silence
Fading 
All energy gone 
A shadow of her former self 
And slips from view 
Over the moorland ridge.

Life’s Juxtaposition of Composition

Pleased that this poem was selected by the Ekphrastic Review for Sophie Tuaeber ARP.

Life’s juxtaposition,
A lack of alignment
Sometimes we move in concentric circles 
Following circadian rhythm,
Or randomly staking position;
Do we strive to find common ground
Security in similarity 
Or defined by individuality?
Free radicles are we who find our way 
Through choice;
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
The drops which slip with random lines
Down the glass.
I move through rooms 
Like chess in play
I compose a thought
And find a path.

Loss and Remembrance

This is not the end of a battle chant 
When will their glory fade? 
No polished medals to be worn 
No patriotic parade.
A peacetime loss seems greater somehow
Sweeping through the land 
And without choice a numbers game  
That’s hard to understand.
Today we remember them 
How hard the year has been 
We look back and think of thousands 
And ones we bring to mind
And struggle how magnified is the loss of humankind.
And we hope because the light is there
And pray for better times.

On Granite Tors

Bench Tor Dartmoor and the River Dart below 
To stand aloft a mighty eminence, 
Command of stature and of height 
The strength defined in granite
Hewn by fire 
Of feldspar, quartz and mica drawn,
Defining presence through
Towering walls of rock; 
Those Tors,with magnificence 
From  ancient 
Crucibles were formed
Resplendent of refiner’s fire 
To forge the views of upland ridge; 
From whence deep wooded valleys Plunge to hidden depths
Where cold,the river tumbles through
A narrowing contoured gap 
From which in summer natural pools are made 
Now churn with greater urgency
A foam of white;
The moor, its wildness casts a spell
In alchemy;
It stirs the mind and sates
The soul; 
Fragility in wildness found:
This upland landscape scarred by time.

Darkness to Light

The haunting melodic sound of  
A canticle sung
Notes 
Travel across the waves of air 
Stirring  memories
Permeating like water 
Drip through the soul
With the freshness 
Of youth 
Gone are the days of 
Choral song
Blown out like a match 
To years past
What freedoms lost
Amidst pursuit to contain? 
To survive in the darkness
We tread through the night
Incandescence is there 
For we’ve come this far 
But the journey is long
And we are paying the price
Like one once paid
On  a road to a cross.

Baleful are the sounds behind
Lamenting sorrows 
In anguish lie 
Spring Equinox
A seasonal change
The end of winter
Lengthened days
On this Goldilocks planet 
A cast off of sloth
Like leaves unfurled
Embracing the light.






Soar on Eagle’s Wing

Soar on the eagle’s wing 
Take flight 
To where all freedom’s won 
Where those winged squadrons
Of the sky
In abeyance keep all enemies aloft
Hold fast to the things of truth
And steer a path
Navigate by stars that trace in threads across the broken skies
Behold  the beauty shown in 
Ribbons of effervescent light
Colours move in flowing equilibrium 
Journey until
The  heart is free and known
The purpose and the journey’s end Are clear
To know ourselves as we so fully are
Where question answers instantly are given 
And fear knows no purpose
In our lives
Then to dive to valley depths
And drink the elixir deep and clear 
The everlasting waters of delight 
And sate the thirst until
We are fulfilled.

Earth Story

Earth story 
Earth wheel
Of the Spring Equinox;
Feel our planet shift
On its axis 
As it turns in rotation
Towards its star 
To lengthening days,
To the rise of the sap
And the birds snatching twigs
The gathering of moss; 
Of the shells from the thrush 
Hammered on stone 
And spun candy floss of blossom 
On the blackthorn tree;
Earth story, 
Earth wheel 
Of the Spring Equinox.
Join circadian rhythms;
Think Spring: think joy 
Give thanks.

Stories


Each of us has a story
To tell 
A map  of our life 
In each of our cells
In the way that we move 
In the people we see
Is calmness evident 
To the people we meet?
Is clarity seen
When doubt prevails?
Does persona encourage 
Or do we doubt ourselves?
When I’m sad, I don’t scream and shout,
‘I’m fine,’I say and shut it out;
Reflection of a mirror
Or have I lied
With the true map of my life
Folded neatly inside?
Being true to myself 
Admitting defeat 
To share the journey
Is a silent relief 
Imperfections accepted 
To be seen as we are
Loved by someone near 
Not from afar.