his shadow became Man.
In the garden, the shadow
that knows itself a shadow
looks for the footsteps,
thinking only poems.
Similar Posts
From my extended family,
‘It’s joost not FURR! ’…Whingers all? Ah – but listento the sound behind those words…this is not the ‘Yokshire’ voice,standing square on the earthas if it always owned it…this is the sound of centuries –two at least – of men’s sense of injustice:forced off the herding on the lovely hills,the fresh cleansing air, orthe market…
Once I had this fanciful idea of recording
and marketing these…As you pull open the worn and squeaky doorthere’s a strange moment of apprehension as ifyou’re not sure what will greet you – a fullnessor an emptiness; a football-stadium roaror a silence; an earfull of praise ora mindfull of questions…but the first step inside, and a silent gasp –it’s bigger inside than outside…and…
Were I a maple,
radiant in old age.
This autumn evening
yet the bare trees smile
Through the tears
See God’s Gracehere in a Child.Eyes washed clear,the Soul shines bright;eyes washed clean,the World’s Delight.
‘The British elections are not firing the voters,
cor stone the crows!as we used to say in the dayswhen we could distinguish a crow from a lyre-bird…blimey, knock me dahn wiv a fev-ver!now if they called itThe National Bribery Competitionit might liven things upand reconnect politicians withtruth