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inaccessible— stale and dated (some say) what can we do? to change that our lives don't often feel as a continuous lyric, or as the tender hang— between notes bursts of astonishment about why we are here at all what if poetry wasn't the distraction from reality? but the thing itself we seek—come to rest here—in the soothe of words a single line that could save you— what is asked of us in these riotously, confusing times? Galileo discovered the Milky Way stars— packed so densely, once thought to be clouds widened hearts— words— shapes that individuate on tongues—on wings, they sing— your own voice What would you like to say? You write so differently to me. our long continuous poem—is life expressing an unsayable Self in openings— roots, stems, veins— find bloom, butterfly from tight cocoon spoken as an invocation from nature's consciousness a surrender to her ecstasy— (dreaming us)
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Above the trees speak to one another, say who they really are, cast themselves bare, upon each other, in this early morning light. Below are the hopeful swells in the new droops. Bright baby leaves.
This poem took its inspiration from a Charles Gore lecture linked below; ‘The Poetics of Life’ by Catherine Pickstock.
Maybe there’s a wisp of a dream in this piece I wrote, to continue to support taking poetry off the page, to bring it into everyday places, to mix media and form to make it more accessible to those who might feel its soothe.
I’ve a bit to go myself in finding the time to refine my own writing. But still, here I am. Feeling the things I do that make me write.
That’s enough for now.
Songlist in its entirety. Best played on shuffle. Skip till you find your mood.
Always love hearing what resonates. Feel free to leave a comment.
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