If there is an answer to everything, and I am certain there is, then it would likely be a sound rather than a word. To be expressed more in the way of an image or a glance, perhaps. A sound almost certainly. Perhaps 'carried in on a breeze of bird's wings'? But that is playing with words. Words are post-intellectual; the answer, in what ever form it comes, will be pre-intellectual.
The colour of spring is yellow, its everywhere, it infuses everything. The air vibrates with yellow. The landscape is saturated by yellow, and rivers flow on bearing yet more. It becomes inescapable by the time we begin to breath yellow. Then it enters our blood, and finds its way to every cell, from toenail to the very tip of a carefully composed coiffure.Yellow has its moment and then gives way. It rises to redefine the edges, a fresh tidal wash of experience, then recedes back into itself, spent.
If we wish to catch the sun with a stick, then we will have to wade in the river.
A moonless night
Gentle with our dreams,
Earth soft washed by rain.
Stretching across the ground
Courgette tendrils-
Its flower gaping.
Dream awake hills
slowly revealed
by the lifting clouds.
a temple gate
dark stained –
early morning rain.
Shape after shape
Mountain after mountain,
Only the colour
Fades into distance.
This moon we can share
A treasure of the heart
A token of love
That frees us to be
In the light of who we are.
Between words -
The poet,
Two flies making love on his knee.
Love without longing;
is the sea less tide,
mountains without valleys,
mere cloudless sky,
but windless breath.
Love without desire;
is a journey less purpose,
music without form,
mere empty promise,
a jewel that does not dwell within.
No comments:
Post a Comment