AtOne
Journeying Inside
Journeying
Journey
The land lay
Under the spell
Of hot midsummer.
Round hay bales,
Grazing cows,
Silver willows
By lazy streams;
Canals deep blue
Against parched green banks.
All flowing by
As the cars sped past
In the heat
Of the summer afternoon.
Margate Beach
Under the spell of the sun
You are almost beautiful.
Seagulls crying in the fading streets,
Peeling paintwork
Bright with colour still,
The chip shops and arcades
Topped with facades that speak
Of times that were more elegant.
On the beach, the sand
Is as golden and as fine
As ever it was,
And the water, still,
A rippling pale-blue silk
In the north-light of the bay.
On the horizon
The distant ruins of the ancient church
Sharing the scene with the wind farm,
While the elegant brickwork closer to
Shares its space with sunburnt skin,
Ripped jeans, boob-tubes and obesity.
It is a place of contrasts,
Of then, of now, and also
In the cry of the gulls,
Of long ago, before the then,
That is evoked in the fading elegance
Or the now of the chip-smell and arcades.
A time when this was a lonely
Marshy isle, wreathed in mystery
At the edge of the land.
Whitstable
The sea healed my mind,
Winnowing gently,
Scarcely breathing;
Each wave a swell
That did not break;
Its surface a sheen
Of palest silk,
Smoothing out the creases,
Softening the corners,
And bringing peace.
Dusk
At dusk the island
Grows loud with the sound
Of birds, and sheep
Calling their lambs.
No gulls cry on this peaceful shore,
But only the oystercatchers
And the grouse
Call across the empty
Bays and moors,
While the moon's silver beam
Softly kisses the silent seas.
Gallanach
The farm in the bay is old,
You can feel it.
On the headland, the ancient graves;
In the crook of the land
The byres of grey stone,
The trickling stream,
Cows on the beach,
Horses, sheep roaming the sand,
Gnarled trees protecting
The garden of fruit
And vegetables that nestles
Behind the hedge.
In the distance the age-old hills
Marching across the horizon,
While the eternal sea
Sweeps and shimmers between.
Yes, life has been lived here
For many long years.
Hens
In the copse, the hens peck the dung,
Scratching to the grubs beneath;
They have scratched together
These two friends, the whole long day,
Digging for their treasure,
Beady eyes and fluffy rears,
Sharp claws and gleaming feathers,
As hens have always done,
Heedless of the perfect picture
Of which they are a part,
Absorbed together in the business
Of their day-to-day.
Perfectly, companionably,
Blissfully ignorant,
And utterly content.
Holiday
Today I threw sand
For a dog who was
Wholly absorbed by its falling;
I watched the seals
Play in the bay,
The wagtail feed its young
Among the crusty weed.
I followed the plover
Along the gentle rill
Where the water meets the shore,
And I watched the flatfish
Settle by my toe.
I saw an owl fly from its roost,
And the heron fly to his.
I followed my child
Through the bog, by the cliffs,
To the top of the hill,
From where I looked out and saw
The land and the islands
Spread out in a blue and green tapestry,
Washed softly in afternoon gold
On the southward sea.
And now at dusk,
I hear the plover and the doves,
The blackbird and the gull,
The oystercatcher and the swallows,
And the distant sound
Of surf on the sea.
I listen, and am content.
Walk with my child
The tussocky grass
Is deserted in the green-gold light.
Heather grows here,
And tiny pink and yellow flowers,
Whose names I do not know.
Water glints in the pools
And the sheep track
Winds up and down,
Up and down,
To the end of the land,
Where it falls in stony cliffs
To the sea
Hungrily swirling,
Dark, blue-black below,
While the foam glints silver.
Far in the distance
The further islands lie grey
Against a golden swell.
Few come here,
Save the ewes and their lambs,
And the small birds
That pipe in the long grass
And among the iris leaves.
And we stand,
All alone
At the edge of the land.
Flowers
There are dusky-dark
Roses here,
Purple-pink against the sea
And their lime-green leaves;
Fuchsia hedges,
Vibrant and sweet tasting;
Thistles prickle the legs
As you walk through the grass,
And in the bright bracken,
Spark of the buttercup
And the unknown flowers,
Yellow on green,
With the dark glint of peat water
Sparking between.
Energy
If ever energy flowed,
It flows here, now,
In the space between
Me and you,
In the space between
Me and the deep blue sea,
In the space between
Sea and the golden sky,
In the space between
Seaweed and its shadow
On the sand,
In the space between
My eyes and the green gold land,
In the space between our hearts
When they meet:
Yes, the energy flows
With a force like the sea.
Samalaman
Yesterday I stood
And watched Heaven
Shed her light to Earth
In silver shards
From dark grey clouds
Across the silent silver seas.
It was a different face
To the one
she shows
In the rustling grasses
Of a country eve,
And yet the same deep melody
Shimmers within,
And weaves them
Into the Tapestry.
Whale
Today the sea
Was sparkling silver-grey,
Each wave etched,
Dancing
In the crystal light.
Far away,
Between ship and land,
I saw it - a rising hulk,
A sight I had not seen before:
The whale on his journey
Through the silent glassy seas,
Loudly calling beneath
The winnowing waves,
While the dolphins and the porpoises played,
And the gannets dived into the depths between.
White butterflies dance in my hot garden today,
And I know that far away
Orange and brown graces the thistles by the sea.
My garden is filled with plants
So vivid and so green,
And I know that far away,
A different shade
Is edging the sparkling sea.
Here and there,
And now and then,
The past and the hereafter -
Strange, how the heart
Can love so many things
And not be torn apart.
