I felt led to write a Haiku Triptych this morning as it feels decidedly cooler these last few days. For me there is sadness yet also an inner glow of contentment as the ‘bigness’ of life has chance to settle for a while and the Spirit to revive.
Sunday After Summer
My grieving over loss
takes me by surprise again.
Summer’s brief visit.
Sunday Before September
Darkness drawing in
fireside chats, warm socks and tea.
of light, stand back for stillness.
Leaves curling, turning.
Soon, swish-crunch under foot as
summer slides away.
Cold months in view come too soon;
hibernation seems fitting.
Photographer: Sandra Bortocha
Struggle of the Opposites
cracked, crumbling, crooked parts
deep inside this weeping well ……
who IS this outside this cave
of ancestral darkness?
who smiles a crooked smile
and inside squirms like a
primordial scream within
an echo chamber – cold?
Brilliance of Blue
There is a little piece of sky
falling in my heart,
…. it falls right into my hands.
I say to sky:
“Sky, why are you so blue?”
“I am blue because I am your enriched
creative expression. I fell into your hands
as a gift from your heart……
I am your voice, your stroke of the brush,
the architect of your words….
I am fuel for your creation; use me.”
I look back at sky and see rainclouds gathering.
“And what are these clouds about you in my hands?”
“They are the tears in me who have gathered
like a reservoir of grief which pour upon your life.”
“Ah” say I,
“I know this all too well as the ground is too wet
for me feet to feel safe upon it…… so I stare down
instead of looking up at you and your brilliance of Blue.”
“Precisely” says sky. “Precisely that.”
This Glorious New Day
Trees, street lamp, bracken
filled the space across the road
till Sunday’s flash winds whipped them up
and threw them down like violated rag dolls….
Now rising sunlight sears through windows,
bakes red roof tiles, warms wildly piqued wasps
and I notice – my heart is thankful
for I have this glorious new day.
Mrs Doubtfire – Robin Williams
leaves will no longer chuckle in Silver Birches,
clouds shall no longer roll, but stay static in time,
bubbles in prosecco shall all burst simultaneously,
hyenas shall silence their laughter……
And me? I shall not not weep,
for you, you gloriously gifted and brilliant man,
will be in every place in this challenging world,
healing brokenness within all, with your spirit,
playing a movie reel in the heads and hearts of all who Love you.
This world shall never doubt the fire in you dear man – never….
We Loved you then, we Love you now…..
“We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.” – John Keating, Dead Poets Society (1989)
Sleep, the friend,
pulling up beads of
Where is life giving oxygen
in the swirl of darkness?
Tree Spirit breathes in,
yet I am lacking….
Perhaps I fly the planet
in the night – O2 isn’t needed
when soaring, bodiless.
Written from Papworth Hospital where I am for an overnight stay on a sleep study. From the window next to me I can see a Silver Birch and in it is a face….