a tree cannot push
against the wind, it must bend
and sway to it’s will
Author: Paul Paterson
kelp
languorous weed and kelp
suckered to it’s sea bones
and splayed in mournful rest
burnishing to the wind
a drift of fleshy brine
memory upon memory
a soak over all these years
in my senses
it waits for the turning tide
captive to it’s wishes
to dance in it’s watery trance
once more
bunker
their bones speak
whispering from the solid earth
that gives them harbour
and the grimace
that their past has formed
must be met with a stoical eye
in the blend of all that has gone
and the focus we see
in all that is to come
of prescience
a soul warming day
of thoughtful cold and grey
of quiet movement
and a tolling bell summoning the rain
of which each heavenly pearl
enraptures me more deeply still
into the lanes and light that built my bones
and freshly coat the paths that walk me back
to where I will rest my head once more
when the evening comes
and softly lays me down
spring
we wait and watch
like cows
lugubrious luminous eyes
wondering
and rusting tractors in their proliferant beds
quiet
absorbing
in hedgerows a bustle of birds
drenched in the need for new life
they too taste the warming of our recent chills
night dreams
dark is the delver
searcher of secrets
slipping beneath
abandoned eyes
enticing morsels
from forgotten corners
to dance and weave
a performance of
hapless marionettes
feathering the storm
they herald the wind
feathering distant portents
to soften the blow
renew
unstitch old cloth with
love, lay it down for others
save the thread for you
blush
blush
mocked grey clouds
slow to pink
beginning the quiet song
that lifts our eyes
to their opulence
our shallow breath
at one in their moment
but too soon
we close our hearts
when their song has faded
into shadow
george and us all
if who we are is
seen as less than a river
we will all run dry
paulhp poetry 