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I see one among countless leaves falling; the serrated edge
and yellowing veins against the green.
I feel the tips of grass stems catch the leaf’s damp surface
and hold it, in the autumn light, above the hidden ground.

That same light on their spears, glinting and beautiful; precise,
and honed by craftsmen; strangers like me.
I imagine one among many, held up to the light – admired by the blacksmith
and his daughter; his life’s work, and love,
sharp.

I think of my children, at home, the lives they’ll live still,
laughing in the sun, which will rise again.
I think of leaves and spears and people, and the sun.

The buckle on my neighbour’s belt, dull iron across worn leather;
much used, and moving gently with his breath;
condensing in the air.

That buckle will endure.

Mist covers the valley, and their spears dissolve.
The leaves fall more slowly now.

If now be the time, then let them come.
If this be the place, then let me stand.
For now time stops,
and here I am.

————————

Running a small engineering business in England in 2012 is not quite the same as standing with Harold against the Normans in 1066, but sometimes it feels like it. Today was such a day.

Posted at Poets United.

12 Comments

October 4, 2012

October morning

I fly with the early morning autumn light,
wary of the cold, damp leaves (warming slowly to a glow)
but alighting on a raindrop, spider’s web weight,
and sparkling.

A bridgehead for the rising sun, in this October day,
multiplied in the water, I fly faster, drawing arrows
in the air; pointing at puddles and clouds,
strangely red.

But not for long; lightened by the rising murmur
of a milk float and early morning cars, becoming white
and dissolving to a china sky; a seductive,
doubtful blue.

A split horse chestnut case lies on the path,
bright green and white, like the clouds,
and slightly battered, unlike the nut;
glinting brown.

—————–

Inspired by my walk to work this morning.

Posted on dVerse.

6 Comments

September 18, 2012

Changing seasons

Clouds, like islands;
sanctuaries in summer skies,
submerged by autumn.

——-

For haiku heights September challenge. Today’s prompt is island. Also posted on the wonderful dVerse site.

15 Comments

September 12, 2012

Maybe

She walks, glancing back,
her summer dress a shifting
symphony of silk.

——-

For haiku heights September challenge. The prompt is symphony.

22 Comments

September 10, 2012

In the cemetery

One smaller gravestone
speaks of hope and love, although
moss covers the name.

——-

For haiku heights September challenge. The prompt is ‘divine’.

15 Comments

September 2, 2012

Loneliness

Your fingers touching
mine, as snow settles outside:
I feel them still.

——-

For haiku heights September challenge.

17 Comments

August 19, 2012

Cecile Corbel in Concert – Poul Fetan 10 August 2012

Through a darkening sky
the harp draws each star, gently,
as an opening heart.

—————-

This is a haiku prompted by a magical evening spent listening to Celtic harpist Cecile Corbel perform in the open air on a still evening on a hillside in Brittany, France. The venue was a restored village from the 19th century, Poul Fetan.

I went with my two teenage children, and having started with a clear blue sky, afterwards the sky was full of more stars than I’d ever seen (and completely clear of clouds) – we followed a mysterious line of lanterns through some woods to the next field, and it was full of astronomers with telescopes: we looked at the stars and saw galaxies and nebulas as never before. Wonderful.

My French is not very confident, but I’ve also had a go at translating my haiku while still in holiday mode:

Par le ciel qui s’assombrit,
la harpe attire chaque étoile doucement;
comme un coeur qu’ouvre.

2 Comments

February 25, 2012

Caer Caradoc

Like a grain of sand I cross your banks,
borne on Roman time and tides, too late
to stand and fight, with you, for life.

My feet scour and stir the earth you threw
upon this hill in vain; once proud
projection of your power, erect
(I imagine, at least) but now
soft and conquered, smooth mounds suckling sheep;
slopes made romantic by imagined pasts and feet.
A woman it was, I hear, who did for you at last.

Like a grain of sand I cross your banks,
and shape your fort, and feel your hands;
two thousand years have passed and still
I dream with you.

——————

Caer Caradoc is a hill fort and also a hill in Shropshire, in the West of England. It is named after Caractacus, the Celtic chief who resisted the Roman invasion of Britain in the first century AD, and is supposedly the site of his last stand against the Roman legions. He was betrayed by a neighbouring Queen and taken in captivity to Rome. You can read more about him on Wikipedia and about the hill fort here: Caer Caradoc.

I like castles and fortresses and this poem is one of a series which I haven’t added to for a while. I’ve climbed Caer Caradoc many times, and it is a good place for a last stand.

17 Comments

February 14, 2012

A Reflective Valentine

Soft, the imprint of your soul on mine,
like footprints in the melting snow;
I try to hold your shape and sense
your absent touch, your force, our past
held in my ice, then forming pools.
My heart beats as the sun, moving
through the sky, shimmers in crystal
echoes of your last goodbye.

——

Inspired by the last remnants of our recent snowfall, around the edges of the tennis court this evening, and someone I haven’t seen for a few months, and miss.

14 Comments

January 30, 2012

After the time of the bees

It was after the time of the bees
she bloomed alone, a single rose
among thorns; scented and white, I see
her petals, pink-edged in the dawn light
of those final days.

I could have wings, and buzz, a bit, at
least – or hum. My shorts are yellow too
and I have a stripy shirt. I like
honey, and flowers, and I dream of meadows,
despite my being a man.

So I landed on your petals, and
sipped your dew. Scented with longing, you
helped me sleep, and we dreamed together
alone, of times of bees and roses,
until your petals fell.

———

Posted on dVerse Poets, open link night.

10 Comments

poetry diary

Category: Favourites

October 5, 2012

The last stand