RESURRECTION

Good to be back at my desk after a fragmented time of worn out viruses – I was
certainly worn out, anyway. Today, I’m feeling a lot better and looking forward
to quieter days and summer. Stay well!

RESURRECTION

We all have our own Gethsemane
When times are against us,
When, faultless and perfect,
Darkness no longer has an airy lightness
But falls upon us
With the full weight of sorrow.

From Gethsemane there comes always
That long walk to the crucifixion of hope,
That slow procession into loneliness,
That sombre step into a darkness where love
Becomes nothing but an old and lovely dream.

Yet that dark garden flames
With the resurrection of a living hope,
Throwing light into the darkness,
Bringing peace to the desolate,
Making all love new,
Its eternal promise forever redeeming,
That where love is,
Time no longer has any meaning.

MIDNIGHT WALK

Night walks are my favourite walks, not as often now as they used
to be and not as adventurous, either. I’m almost at the point of down
the road and back , which isn’t as bad as it may seem as we live in a
quieter part of the village with hedgerows and fields and patches of the
woodland I used to play in when I was a child. This is a picture of a bit
of a night wood waiting for morning.

MIDNIGHT WALK

Walking through the dark trees,
My steps sending little puffs of dust
Over the small curling ferns crouching.
   The faint shine of a white petal
   Breaks through the intense darkness,
   Until a sudden throw of moonlight
   Brings the pale anemones,
   The golden celandine,
   Into perfect life on the woodland floor.

   I hear the soft shuffling of birds in their nests,
   Heads tucked under their wings,
   Deeply sleeping.
   Then the tiny bubbling of water running
   Down the little, half-hidden stream,
   Throwing the odd diamond drop
   Onto the yellow primrose.

   Here, small brown creatures
   Slip in and out of the freezing water,
   Icy, from the still snow laden hills so faraway
   This wood never thinks of them.
   Nor do we, until, we, too, are frozen.

   Out of the trees, onto the edge of the fields
   That stretch into the darkness,
   The small growings rustling an excited invitation
   To walk the night
   Over ploughed earth and stony frost sparkling
   To the far wood, which magic is held to own.
   But I turn back, not ready to meet a veiled magician
   Of spite, dead things and stagnant water.
   And the trees swallow me
   As a shadow is swallowed by darkness.

   Now the wood shakes itself,
   The trees whispering of this returned presence
Walking their quiet and mossy paths.
   And I turn for home,
   To the lovely fragrance of wild roses
   In the hedgerows.

WOLF WIND

Writing from a virus-hit January, the last thing we wanted to happen
was ferocious winds causing so much damage. But here we are, in
the middle of Nature’s rage and fury. I chose this poem to cheer myself
up and, hopefully, to cheer us all!

WOLF WIND

The wind comes wary,
Like a quiet wolf
Sneaking through the trees,
Watching what’s lying
In front of him.

This house blown down,
That tree uprooted.
The whole of one small town
Wrecked by the wolf wind’s fury.

Except for that little corner
Where Lovers plot and plan
       their glowing future.
Feeling the wolf’s sharp teeth
       nibbling,
They kiss and deny him.
Rap his nose and send him home
        crying.

PRIVATE KEEP OUT! by Gwen Grant
published by Penguin Vintage Children’s Classics
available in paperback and as ebook

NIGHT WORK

It’s a very cold night and the wind is picking up strength, sweeping over the fields with
teeth of ice. So this is the time to wish everyone HAPPY NEW YEAR and may the coming
months bring peace and hope for all.

NIGHT WORK

A bitter night of frost,
Of frozen snow and ice so thin
It came in on the wind.
Sharp as knives, cutting uncovered faces,
Splitting flesh on poor cold fingers,
Promising a day of misery
With beauty in its pocket.

Down the long perishing road,
Houses huddled tight together,
Looking for warmth.
Brick walls cold as stone.
Frost rimed windows and doors tight closed.
Tall chimneys carrying the tiny warmth
Of dying fires into the freezing dark.

Into this cold silence,
Whispered words, poems and half-remembered prayers
Drift like wisps of smoke.
Dreams and reality
Bringing another world to this world.

Bringing hope
For as long as those
Who do the night work,
Work on.

HOPE IN TRAINING

I was cheered by the sight of rhododendrons full of tight buds, reminding me that, although
it’s still a long way away, Spring will come, the buds will open and their glorious flowers
shine out. Warmth and colour be in the world again.

HOPE IN TRAINING

Those tight little buds are waiting
For next Spring.

There’s no sign of hurry,
No hint of impatience.

In fact, just looking at them
Reveals an alternative world

To the one we live in.

	Liz on THE MOON COMPLAINS
	Schnark on NO-ONE VISITS US, ANYMORE…
	camilla wells paynte… on PAGAN WEDDING
	camilla wells paynte… on LENNY DANCER
	tracykard on A SHORT TIME LATER