-
claimed
between
day and night
the world has paused
letting light drift
gold below clouds,
claiming the lived
and the living by touch
on its slow climb
up the hill
while the door
between worlds
stands ajar. -
weathering
again boomslang
swims the high branches
among a flutter of small birds
and heron slowly
measures the sky
before the salt mist
rushes the valley
and the night sings
of rain -
infinite
if we know that
at the heart of matter
is energy,
that we live into matter,
that we build ourselves
daily pulling atom
and molecule into tissue
and cell – that between
proton and electron
the microcosmic universe exists.
if we know that energy
can never be created or destroyed
then we know
we have been dancing
in and out of form forever –
and will do so my love,
for infinity to come.
Collage by Steven Hurt -
into the mystery
deep in the ravine
between the naked trunks
of tall trees finding light
are the bright red mushrooms
that grow unseen
among shadows.there is no path,
no ladder, no stairs
to the depths.
your feet know
the slippery ways
of moss boulders
and leaf mold –
they have walked here in dream,
waiting for you to follow -
white mare dreaming
In grateful and loving memory of Dusky Moon
i dreamed once
the white mare
ran along the forest edge
unbound
in a place that felt like homeand i waited and i searched
and i listened for that place
until, full pregnant,
i could wait no more
and the dream faded.we built here on the hill
on some wattle cleared land
and the girls grew like the trees –
saplings reaching for the light,until one evening
so much older
the white mare ran a path
we had made on contour – field to field
along the forest edge
and i saw her silver mane
bright against the depth of green
as i had so many years before in dream
and i knew that were homeand wondered if it was the dream
that called this here into being
or its being that seeded the dream. -
etymology
etymology
in the beginning
was the word
and the word
was rain
and it fell
to the thirst of the earth
and we lived –
feather, fur and leaf.
lived again
to tend the tree
that grows
from the earth,
is the earth,
bathed in in light. -
breach
too long the river has waited,
dark water under a still
summer sky,
feeling her longing
seep through the sand
pull to the tide – but tonight
the sickle moon sways
in a cloud rushed sky and ,
frogs sing for the rain that falls
and pours and spills,
the pools that fill
the streams that rush.
tonight the river gathers her strengthi am river – she growls,
gravel tongue to soft palate
finding voice.
i am river – she croons
to the fern soaked bank.
i am river – she shouts,
summoning her power,
black water riding the night tide
ocean bound.
i am river – she roars
pulling strength from the sky,
breaching the sand bank
wave after wave
spilling the ecstatic sea. -
monday morning
if the sun had not risen
if the rain had not fallen
if loerie had not sat
perfect green on the archway
waiting for us
to pay attention.if it had not rained more
misting the ocean
on the way down the hill
if the air had not pulsed
warm rich with rain
and ocean salt
if the estuary
was not flowing
full to the seaif the leaf had not dripped
warm rain down my shirt
if thunder had not
cracked open the skyif the grass had not squelched
and sunbird had not trill called
its nectar song where i walked
close between showers
if i had not silly whistled
songs about the moon
while picking wet raspberries
red sweet and softi would never
have remembered
that love tastes like rain
and raspberries
and morning. -
quiet sunday
beyond reach
of the noise
of the rushing world
and endless talk
of the weather
bracket fungus still glows
on moss thick trunks
amongst sway of branch
and drip of leaf. -
sodden
went out mid shower
in the almost dark
to shape the flow of water
harvested road-side along channels
to fill a series of ponds.
it had been raining solidly all day.i had not intended to be out long,
just enough to check water levels
and hear the sounds of night, full
with running water and the
splat drumming of rain –but oh the joy
of water rushing from the hill road –
flooding our banks
spilling and refilling
the garden sluice
running pond to pond
in small rapids and falls.i stayed a while –
clearing leaves where
the water foamed under
stepping stone bridges,
and along low channels
long empty of flood.
scratching lines in heavy clay
to lead precious water
to the swale path,
hearing the bliss song
of full summer tomato vines,
rosemary and thyme.full dark now
and soaked beyond bones
i return inside
crackling ecstatic and
deliciously cold
while the rain continues
hammering on the roof.when sleep comes
i dream of that water rising,
of the deep pond overflowing
sparkling with mica and silver fish
spilling light among the night shadows
and quiet roots of trees.