Waking with the Bees

Is the memory more valuable than the reality? I think not. I can remember the criss crossed paths in the woods, and the way it felt coming out into the light after walking beneath the forest, the way the birch trees slowly took over an ancient path on a steep hillside, as a herd of…

Indelible

Are you helping me? I’m not sure To my face you are kindness personified As if Santa were tall, thin and balding. Everything seems fair, and tastes foul after “Take your medicine boy,” like the shudder of syrup or the unwanted feel of grit from an oyster.   This is a sin of omission, a…

Wanderlust

If you were now so inclined to come with me into the woods, and walk beneath the sultry pines I hope that it may do some good. For though your legs are sore and tired and we’ll find hardship on the path the flight of your blue has expired, the last time hearing beeches laugh…

The 5 Myths of Grief

Myth 1: You will undergo 5 stages of grief As it happens the five stages of grief are not really an accurate model for what you are going through. That’s because they were intended for the bereaved, but for the person dying. Elisabeth Kübler-Ross created the now well known labels of Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and…

In the Valley of Rest

Meet me in the valley, by the River, as wide as two cars underneath the gaze of hills rising steeply all aquiver that I can’t understand the many ways the trees cling to the soils’ deep breast Meet me there, and damn the rest. Take me to the forest by the Millstone, the snow as…

Rain in Budapest

The air is hung heavily with drops that toy with the idea of becoming mist before falling. The streets have become mirrors now each passing car sounds like tissue paper being torn. Rain has no memory, but it has destiny, falling to its assigned place, coalescing, flowing. This is not the end of the drought,…

Sonnet for Felicité Carrel

Female climbers at the turn of the 20th century faced more than their own share of hardships. Beyond the dangers and challenges of the ascent itself, they were still trapped in the social mores of the time, and the social hegemony that continues to this day. As a result many female climbers were compelled to…

Highscore

I login, read stats, compare them to those from before. I read metrics and wonder how to keep growing – authentically. I saddle my high horse and refuse to link to social media, I delete the ‘follows’ of the advertisers and hucksters. I glower with envy at follower counters of 500, a thousand Ten thousand!…

Into The Earth

Into the earth the machine tore and dragged the soil to sight of sun the gleam of fearsome alloy claws revealing broken rabbit’s run I stood and watched the garden fall and shifted on the frozen ground so far from home I felt too small to cope with what was all around.   Into the…

The Arms of Mountains

Hilltops ruminate at the teeth of a new sky and long for the snow wrapping all that can be seen into the arms of mountains.   Stones nestle above the quarries of their rebirth stacked into towers Who built the ruins? she asks below the arms of mountains.   Invisible grasp sends the gasp of…

Parabola

  Feel the sinewed arc of the wood that hug the mountains lest they rise, and lead the way, as well they should. Feel the sinewed arc of the wood upon the limestone where they stood and set the skies in blushed surprise. Feel the sinewed arc of the wood that hug the mountains lest…

Water Vapour

Into the sunlight I was called and yet there is no space so cradled in the wealth of light as this unending place. Ablated into forms that flow like sheets around her legs these mountains rise and so do I like vapour as it begs to scurry in the sky azure and gaze upon the…

Russian Crow

A smooth caress of melted snow takes mood of ravens in bare fields. They scramble in the dying glow to taste a dish in soil revealed.   Commission of a mortal sin bruises the soul in places lost A swarm of feelings huddle in. Reflection lets us count the cost.   And capped with lustre carved in…

Rubble in the Streets of His Childhood

The sky is a rich and heavy blue, that seems to hover inches from our heads, as though we were inside a cubby house made from couch cushions and blankets. It crumples to the north with the weight of the clouds, at the corner that marks the edge of the village. There to the right…

Twelve words

As it happens, I really miss the Daily Prompts. They had long been a source of inspiration, both in terms of kick-starting my own writing, and in connecting with others. So this morning I opened a Random Word Generator site and created a list of 12 words to form a poem around.