Snow,

Saint Valentine sayshe needs poets to write…roses are red(well, some are pink) :Saint Valentine sayshe needs hearts expressed in ink..poems are read;that’s the good news here;Saint Valentine’s daycould last all year…

summer’s tender scent, intense,dispersed; no mercy; beauty, blind…perfect petals torn by scorn,where will weather cast your care?soon there, new year’s bud be born;pray the maid’s rose bless the year

An apology, a resignation of their tarnishedposition in our public life? Don’tmake me laugh…No – they grandstand, chest inflatedwith their moral worthiness –‘This is absolutely unacceptable…’implying, some minion… escaped my notice…of course would never countenance……torocaca! That’s exactly whatyou just did – accepted it…It’s another variation of the now familiarresponse to some organisation’s failing –don’t admit…

from the true (and, it’s hoped, the good)into the beautiful:poetry; sculpture; machinery of wood and metalsuch as that which raised the Parthenon;raised Apollo, Venus, out of stone;raised myth out of poetry.And I, we, too have technologyforever at our finger-tips..Did it happen through chance,through procrastination,or through attention givento a task and needs,this ‘beautiful’ solutionthat mathematicians talk…

and yet, and yet… I’m just a little sad,not to meet my self in previous embodimentand say, thanks for the baton that you passedin this relay race of self to selfthrough millions of forms of life, they say;you played your part; worked through your destiny,gave cradle-gifts; withheld some too,to test me further on the path…

like seed that seems inert – yet, not inert;its hidden clock an instrument of grace;the mind, that soil which meanwhile does not know:it neither knows what lies in its embrace,nor its own precious nutrients which growthat seed; nor knows the Sower; nor His grace –until the day that in some Spring of light,I realised: I,…