Blackbird.

Blackbird.

I am a thousand blackbirds flying through the sky

with pink feet

I am a thousand owls at night

I am rooks on a morning

I am swallows along a washing line

tapping on a window to see what I can see inside

I am a thousand swallows flying around a living room

I can see through lime earth-filled walls

through wooden ceilings, concrete floors

I see the pattern of earth deep below, all around

I am a thousand ants making a thousand alleyways through the soil

to serve the queen

I am a thousand bees feasting on a thousand flowers

1000’s of pieces of pollen

I can see inside a flower

see the formation of the pollen

the beauty inside a bee

I can see through all the gateways

beyond the guardians

I can see classical structures

how this world is made up

I can see quantum level creation, creators, factors

I can see energy coming into being

I am a thousand blackbirds flying over the sea

in a delightful swirling action

We are singing, all of us, constantly,

even under our breath

We don’t sleep, we constantly sing

It is our destiny

our very beingness

to sing bright

brightly.

The Moors by Julie Rose Clark (Where I Live Poetry & Photography Series)

Silver Birch Press

steve_watson
THE MOORS
by Julie Rose Clark

I couldn’t say
I love the moors
nor could I say
I moved here for them –
when you could with ease,
all of you.
I could say
I love the canyons
even though I have never been;
the red rock
of memories,
the stories,
the paths they contain –
yes I could say
I love them.

I couldn’t say
I love the teasels,
the wire grass,
the sheep bones,
nor could I
say I walk here through choice
it’s simply
where I find myself;
here among the wonky walls,
the half stiles,
the rake roads,
the black-faced running sheep,
the bent gates,
the rocky straight,
the treeless horizon.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: This poem makes me think of the wind high on the tops of the moors which I have lived around now for about 12 years. It makes me think of the…

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Haworth in the February sunshine

A 5 mile walk in cold conditions to Bronte Waterfalls wearing one borrowed purple Thinsulate glove and a buff on my head (plus my hood at times) thanks to Jeanette, some sunshine, no ice but cold cheeks in the wind – started and followed by a visit to the wonderful Cobbles and Clay cafe joined by other friends. A nice bus ride to Haworth too also meeting two friends by accident on the ride.  Much talk of plans to walk the Camino de Santiago this year and the eating of Tuscon Bean Stew and Cobblety Pie and chocolate cake.

Lost and found haiku from five days ago

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blank white canvas wait

paint comes thin in the night air

blinks, 1,2,3,4

 

 

jellyfish painting

transformed cardboard, candlelight

evening yoga set

 

moved furniture

space near window reveals

long lilac curtain

 

jacket potato

hummus tune coleslaw choice

crispy skin soft in

 

downward dog cat cow

rabbit pose, child pose, in breath

light bulb with no shade

Today I walked in the snow

Today I walked in the snow

I saw an owl glide over the sunlit valley

I crushed ice beneath my feet

I stopped in my tracks and stared at the white moon above the trees

I stopped and listened to the silence

I stopped and breathed

I stopped and felt how things felt

I walked in the ice, the mud, the stones, the rivulets

Today I walked in the snow

Sung snow beneath my boots

Watched the distant hills, high, flat

I watched the snow on the branches

I watched the snow settled on benches

I looked high into the pines

I breathed snow into my lungs

I watched the tiniest of birds fly

I stopped in my tracks

and then continued again

black trees

black trees skirt the sky, 5pm, so different from 9am, so different from 12.30pm, so different from 1pm. 1pm we were making scones, 10am I was in the midst of yoga, 12pm I was drinking hot chocolate, 5.30pm I write poetry.

black trees skirt the sky, I skirt the streets buying carrots, swapping library books, bumping into friends in Deerstalkers on their way to Improv. classes and look at adverts in the co-op.

black trees skirt the sky and I am home in the deep quiet until the door bursts open and the menfolk arrive with their quick energy and their action and their stories and ideas.

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painting jellyfish

DSCF5770

painting jellyfish in acrylic

on a sea of cardboard

with white gouache and phthalo blue

with French decorators brush and Hebden water

listening to Moonlight Sonata

on a sea of Beethoven

with Belgian undertones and Dutch names

impossible love stories and the sounds of Stromae

overlapping soaking drying swimming

interspersed with old things, antiques, old planes, chisels, people,

turning back from the Crags full and flooded car park

where the jellyfish pulsed in lines and the paint colours ran into one another

and the symphonies fell silent as seas of bicycles and road-crossers dove across the tarmac and atwixt the cars

with rainy overtones and icy patches

impossible shopping trips and impossible car parks

back to the swell of the ocean that is home