Stealthy appearance
Resolutely unyielding
Enveloped in white.
The Slapton Line
Long sweeping curve of the bay
Thread of yellow
Meets mist
And foreboding cloud
Disappearing into a charcoal sky.
Whipped up waves
Churn against the shoreline;
Light plays on the ever changing surface
Of indigo and grey;
A constant movement of the beast
A heaving mass of rolling wave
Surges and falls;
Hides the creatures that live beneath its surface.
No sign of porpoise or seal,
And where is that great Leviathan we once saw?
When eyes trained for hours
Were rewarded with
That great spout of water and arch of the tail;
That spectacle so great;
Nothing today but
Random illusions from
Effervescent forces,
The damp wind in the face
And voices blown away on salted air.
Haiku pattern – Tables Turned
At the end of March
We stepped off the planet
The world kept turning.
Our pace had to slow
With endless restrictions
Nature stayed at work.
We began to notice
Sounds so more distinctive
We listened more.
Birds became louder-
The blackbird, wren and thrushes?
You just thought that way!
We had quietened
And so insightful we saw more
That was nature’s gain.
Unhindered by us
Nature continued growing
The tables were turned.
What when this all ends-
Will we forget this learning?
We owe it to the earth.
Storm Approaching
Clouds of grey are churning
High above in stratus;
Soughing of trees increases
With punctuated stopping
Under heaviness awaited.
Intensity foreboding;
Drawn to be outside
To feel the storm approaching
To feel the pressure dropping
Into deep depression;
Oppressiveness in air
A world more monochrome;
The road joins the sky;
Hedges lean in closer.
An air of caution heeded
With Heavy drop of rain
The turning off of light
Foliage hanging heavy
Birds going quiet.
Stolen Time?
Consciousness of sound
Momentary wakefulness
Awareness returns.
The calm grey of dawn
Recumbent cows are stirring
Sleeping world waiting.
The first sound of birds
An urgent call and restless
The flourish soon gone.
Blurred edges of day
Nocturnal meets diurnal
Time stands juxtaposed.
Thoughts like whispers flow
Slowly losing clarity
Recrudescent dream.
Running with time limit
There’s nothing like a time limit to increase the challenge and make me run faster . Tonight was a PB 5.7km in 50 mins. And back in time for Gardener’s World !
You know there’s only one way and that’s up when you see the land slip on this field.
Walk to Lydia Bridge
An ancient bridge
Spans moorland gorge
Deep running
Clawing at the rock;
Smooth worn boulders
Undercut
And crystal pools
Dark hollows block;
A cobbled path will take us still,
Smooth worn by constant tread;
Age old route beside the river
Leads up to Lydia Mill.
Moss covered rocks line the way
Tumbling along its line;
Trees overgrown and leafy shrubs
Restrict this view of mine.
Sheep though graze beneath the boughs
To shelter from the rain,
Tucked in and hidden well
Till showers have passed again.
The way,though short,is special still
What waits is worth a view;
The water tumbles down with force
Primeval smells of damp earth ensue.
The climb is short
An ancient stile
Of stone is at the ridge;
Beside darkened pools the final task
To reach this ancient bridge.
A walk along the Shore
Awakened with childlike anticipation,
the world gives way
to a shimmering haze of blue.
An empty swathe of pale gold sand
meets the eye and
catches the breath
with a haunting beauty.
Wind-blown and almost deserted,
but for
a solitary figure some way West.
A setting unheard of
but these are exceptional times.
As if stripped of all unnecessary
accoutrement of human activity,
unadorned
where land meets the sea.
Fine dust and grit from an onshore wind,
A translucent sea
held still and glistening;
soft, turquoise blue-
a sheen against a pastel sky.
Cool sun
and gentle beams of light
cast shimmering lines
on the water surface
as it
gently tickles the shore.
A shallow skin of water
forming undulating pattern
of shifting sand
and rhythms
play
under the ever-changing sky;
shadows modifying the colour
in a mesmerising way,
Ribbons of blue green stain.
A gust of wind
entombs
faded footprints
which lead to water's edge.
Intuitively,
drawn to follow,
we too sink feet
and set our footprints there
in perfect line;
our pattern is the same.
And with flattened stones
Sea- worn smooth
in palms,
we skim the mirrored surface
and watch the spring
on the meniscus
spit and ripple.
Concentric circles
widen
to dissipating pattern
repeated as we play.
Instinctive is the need
to hold a shell
or turn
sea glass in the hand.
These are tactile pleasures
reciprocated every visit
on a walk along the shoreline.
We tread lightly:
take nothing but the air,
the freedom of the open space,
our voices on the wind.
sand in the hair,
the breath of the sea ,
the memory in our DNA.
Ruth Partridge
Rule of Three
The rule of three a writer's trick Memory facilitated, Three facts, that's it. In children's stories, threes found here, The Three Little Pigs The Three Musketeers. In fiction we remember three Beginning, middle and end agreed. A story group- a trilogy. A Narrative that shows progression Built up with tension Then released invention. Even stooges came in three Shakespeare made good use of these. A student learns with ease. Letters too have this restriction Salutation And valediction. There's strength in three for sermon too Three points made, then conclude Expected rule To err would fool. Consider other speeches then, 'Friends, Romans, Countrymen!' Slogans Pen: Stop Drop Roll, The 3 Rs toll, Three goals. There's power of three Makes a cube Rigidity of strength imbued. Take a power away and strength is lost. A flat square is not as strong. Power gone. Three-leaved clover, a fourth is rare; Nature's power of three is there, Three elements in air. The Bible too has symbols then: The three wise men, The cockerel crowed three times again. The third hour,the third day, Three times in the garden at Gethsemane The disciples forgot to pray. Father, Son and Spirit given At Trinity the power from heaven Omnipotence is riven. Omnipresent Omniscience Power over all with love is meant. A triune God of one in three Blessed Holy Trinity. The rule of three. Ruth Partridge
Hidden Secrets
All is calm below The soughing trees above Protect this hidden space The depths I've learnt to love. Richness in these lanes Hold such secret there, A hidden wealth of nature Makes me linger there. Echoes in the wind; Gentleness beneath the trees ; Vibrancy beheld; The beauty of the leaves. Pastel shades of green Whispered feathers blown. Muted creatures stirred The lane gives up its throne. The secret lives it holds Twisted stories it could tell of folk who walked its path This lane I know so well.
Ruth Partridge 