I have finally succumbed to my poetic urges, and thus I present my poetry page. I will be keeping to a Nature theme for these poems, and I hope they inspire you to see the beauty in Nature as I do.

Gwas.

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The Remote Hawk

The hawk sees what was

and what is to come.

A stillness of mind

like a pinpoint in time.

Thought is surrendered

and memory is one.

Wind-spanned gatherer

of thermic breezes.

Upswell of images, geometries and friezes.

A skinflint second of pure recognition,

Then a fall into pattern

Both ancient and sudden.

Rewarding and living and knowing

and done.

COMMENT: This poem was inspired by my work with remote viewing, and by the thought-form of Gwalchmai – the Hawk of May. I have fused the concepts together here, engendering the requirements for remote viewing with the vision of the hawk, and brought the two together in the idea that the bird is my totem animal.

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The Sylph Inside

Cleaver of clouds, flitter of wings
Racer of blusters, a moving thing

You have no face, no form, no span
Here I stand earth-bound beneath you,
a man

How can I catch you, grasp, understand
how you scrape the heavens, skim sky
now then land?

Breathless against you, tugger of strings
Cool friends you cluster, a choir sings

But you have no heart, no head, no hands
And I am beneath you, wrapped up in flesh,
just a man

Who longs to fly with you
longs to, and can!

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Meeting Theodora

Cailleach the Crone is one of her names
But she asked me to call her Theodora.

Like a lone soul searching for a mate
I sought her out, and the explorer

In me gave no resistance, no blame.
She had something I needed and more.

Our conjunction was predictable, ornate,
Like a star moving through an aurora.

—

I asked her to teach me Nature’s ways
and she did so scarce batting an eye.

In a cowl she hid her deep-lined face
Where the ages had passed her and died.

When the Spring begins to lighten the days
I suspect she’ll reveal how she’s tried

To teach me before in previous lives
And how this is the one that has listened.
How I long for a glimpse of her occult eyes
Where the tears trace the lines as they glisten.

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Welcome In The Winter

Slow contrast, the deepening furrows of darkness

She weaves into my routine as she shifts

From time-delay warmth

To pendulous moth-cloud dullness.

The half-lid interim from wake to sleep.

…

A sneering sister of bright Spring.

For all her taunts she is the more constant

Her palette drained of gaudy greens

An inevitable rust to dust decay

Whose low-light seed she sheens with ice.

…

I welcome in the Winter.

She’ll come anyway, in spite.

She’ll come anyway, preserving light.

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