Wednesday, 10 February 2021

The Voice of the Land



This is a short song which was spontaneously recorded on my phone, I don't know when. It seems pertinent to our times. The song thrush has been singing behind our house recently; what a delight!

The animation was made using images from my Instagram, @4mandalous using The Gimp, Fffmpeg & Flowblade Movie Editor.

Wednesday, 16 December 2020

Vanishing Point







Yes, there is a vanishing point
Like that glimpse distant where the sky meets the sea
In a photograph of a long lost day
That we can barely see
For haze or curvature of space,
Held by the earth’s almost impossible size
Neither dark nor light &
All the more obscure for that
But fear not.

Fear not such questions
On the basis of size
Ungraspability or our inability
To see through clearly;
The world & life have no end or edge
We are merely limited in our vision
& so we concern ourselves with
More substantial things,
We think.

We think we know
Or imagine that we can see where they have gone
Or tell a story about the world elsewhere
But there is no world elsewhere
Just changes of perspective
Like memories & dreams &
We’re yet to fully appreciate
The rich depths of this world,
Mostly unseen.

Mostly unseen, like our own substance
Tissues, long chain molecules
Sparkles of light, wheels within wheels of cells
The bright, wordless songs
From which our life uncurls;
The past & future are visions they show us
& are not real;
Neither is the horizon, that vanishing place
Which we cannot touch.



I took a photo of My Dad & my sister Kay on some long lost summer holiday day in the '70s. Love & mystery surround us! I have spoken.

Sunday, 6 December 2020

The Golden Wood

 

Listen to the sounds of the Golden Wood in winter
As the sun is setting beyond the tree line:
The calls & minor key songs of birds,
Small movements of water,
The rush of the breathing, seething roads.
Beyond the ice, dead leaves;
Beneath the leaves, the Bronze Age of your departing year
& all its stories, spoken or unspoken.

Journeys: arrivals & departures
On little wings to & from the continent
Of time, across the sea of sleeping & waking
& this news is not false news
Nor is it irrelevant, for life goes on
Despite the erudite commentary
With which they try to display their knowledge
Of things that are beyond you
& the strange motivations of the others.

If all you hear is sound
You are deaf to the language of birds
If all you see is an oncoming darkness
You are blind to earth-depth
If you look at the sun
& you can’t imagine her smile
Or the moon, & you forget
How ancient his scarred old face really is
Then you are lost in time.
If all you think is in words
Then your heart has been frozen
In the winter night
& you need to sit by someone’s fire for a while.


Listen to the sounds of the Golden Wood in winter
As the sun is setting out beyond the ash trees;
Our breath makes clouds
& the gulls make lines
& the robin shouts
& the river makes a flash of dim light;
Out here among the wind chastened trees
We are singing.