Standing Up Again

Note: the poem in this post is the same as in the last post from early this morning – the difference is the photo; I went to the location that is the main setting of the poem and took this photo today, under the tree; whereas the previous photo, which I also like, is the beach on the coast in front, where the breeze brushes around the rocks and ‘vraic’ (a Channel Islands term for seaweed). This post shows both of these photos 🙂

I’m sorry that I lost my way

to end up here, beneath this tree,

its withered branches reaching low

to touch the ground, and shelter me.

~

Bracken wavers in the breeze,

that blew across the bay, below;

that brushed around the rocks, and vraic;

that found – past land – its upward flow.

~

A small seed traces through my gaze,

bobbing round, a spectre borne

in secret air; I watch it each

way torn, now trapped upon a thorn.

~

A bee appears, darts directly

to the wind, shoots up high,

and joins in currents of the air

to vanish quickly in the sky.

~

The wind now breaks inside my den

and rushes coldly through my heart,

I know the time is come for me

to let my foolish worries part.

~

With so much good, why should I fear

I’ll helplessly be drawn away?

I’ll choose my mind and set my course and

live, still better, every day.

Standing Up Again

I’m sorry that I lost my way

to end up here, beneath this tree,

its withered branches reaching low

to touch the ground, and shelter me.

~

Bracken wavers in the breeze,

that blew across the bay, below;

that brushed around the rocks, and vraic;

that found – past land – its upward flow.

~

A small seed traces through my gaze,

bobbing round, a spectre borne

in secret air; I watch it each

way torn, now trapped upon a thorn.

~

A bee appears, darts directly

to the wind, shoots up high,

and joins in currents of the air

to vanish quickly in the sky.

~

The wind now breaks inside my den

and rushes coldly through my heart,

I know the time is come for me

to let my foolish worries part.

~

With so much good, why should I fear

I’ll helplessly be drawn away?

I’ll choose my mind and set my course and

live, still better, every day.

Big Triku ‘The Top?’

I turn a corner,

to face the gradual rise

of another hill.

~

When I reach the end, by the

blue sky, will it only be to see

the path continue upward?

~

Surely some corner,

before the clouds, will show the

glorious summit?

Paintings and Flowers

I saw your paintings, and your flowers,

and I remembered when,

for just a second,

I had not lost hope.

When my long closed eyes

felt a hint of light,

when I felt at long last

my dreams could take flight,

no longer trapped in the past,

with me shrinking behind my disguise.

At times I feel I cannot cope,

yet I have always known, when troubles beckoned,

fresh hopes would follow them.

~

And I am lost

in the beauty

of the paintings

and the flowers.

~

Raindrops on petals, and

art in rusting metals,

fields bursting with colours, and

pictures of never heard album covers,

urban streets, and

tempting retreats,

solitary blooms, and

graffiti ravaged rooms,

the detail of an insect’s eyes, and

infinity found in starry skies,

peaceful scenes of quiet seas, and

poplars leaning in a breeze,

an instant of a bird in flight, and

eternity captured in the camera’s light.

~

And I am lifting in the wind, with the birds in the air,

slowly drifting, I let go, I am free of my care,

swirling through the colours as the land beneath me passes,

twirling with the swallows over fields of waving grasses,

turning to the treetops that look tiny from so high,

churning through the troubled air and spinning through the sky.

~

I cannot change the winds that blow,

to where they take me, I cannot know,

music seeps into my mind,

my worries now lie far behind.

~

I accept control

is beyond my powers.

~

And I dissolve

in the world

through the paintings

and the flowers.