When the dawn breaks
And the sun beams upon your day
Go about it without effort
As through the nothingness
Comes great abundance
Poems
Video Art (in development)
Poems poems poems:
Mostly written in North Cornwall and on the Ashdown Forest in Sussex
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Fire
I am the fire, do you trust me?
I am wild, I am free
The animal you try to cage, you will never tame me
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I whisper, I shout, I ROAR and I spit
If i'm angry, i'll rage, and I won't give a shit
Scream, cry, watch me climb high
The air will feed ME, I will dance, I will fly
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I am red, I am orange
I am purple and blue
I will feed from your toxins, and then I shall spew
Out in your faces, I will take you all down
I will burn, I will laugh
I will turn your world brown
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But then, through my smoke
I will purify thee
I will warm and envelope you, the visions in me
In the dark of the night, in the depths of the woods
I will keep you alive
I will comfort your moods
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The spirit the water, the earth and the air
The stag of the hunt, the chase of the hare
Face to the south, and look for the sun
Dance with me, dance with me
Your day has begun.
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The Storm
I am the fire that lives in each soul
The passion, the energy, simmering to boil
As you sleep in your beds, I am ready to take you
As a thief in the night, I will beat you and rape you
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I have no mercy, I am anger and rage
The earth is my pathway, I am older than age
Name me, and slay me I care not for any
Nothing can cage me, not science or penny
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Your children, your houses, your antiquities
Only mountain and boulder can stand up to me
I will rip out your forests I will shit on your wars
I will take all your children, and kick out your doors
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I am bigger, faster, and mightier than all
I will come, I will show you, your meek and your small
The oceans will rise and will spit in my eye
Your buildings will roar as I thunder on by
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Somebody, something, evoked me to come
Was it human, or creature, the moon or the sun?
But then..all is quiet, all is still, all is left
Rubble, destruction, a place to detest
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The dance with the devil is over and done
Just a whisper of wind and a little bird-song
A moment to cling, to all that was there
A tear from the ocean for a land left so bare.
Terrible Thing
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It's a terrible thing they are doing, cutting down all the trees
Chopping and hacking and sawing and smashing, doing just as they please
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It's a terrible thing they are doing, taking the woodlands away
Hedgehogs and squirrels and insects and fauna, they can wipe out a lot in one day
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It's a terrible thing they are doing, ignorance is not always bliss
The burning and churning and using, abusing, creating a concrete abyss
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It's a terrible thing they are doing, turning the green into grey
The concrete and asphalt and breezeblock and tarmac, it's driving the creatures away
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The Ashdown Forest
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As I lean upon my desk, my eyes look inwards, my gaze adrift
My senses taken far away, to buzzard, yew to fir and swift
Dainty whispers of the breeze, carries me with bird and bee
The sun glows through the window pane, accross my chest, like forrest flame.
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"Come to me" speaks the forest birch, singing from his wooden church
Oaken doors and silver arches, pew and bench from fallen branches
I run to catch the morning service, paper flies like whirling dervish
Longing for the Ashdown forest, echos of the flying chorus.
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Oh trees of every shape and shade, deep rich malachite, turquoise, jade
Dazzling veridian captured by sunlight, splashes of vermillion beaming like muscovite
The decaying russets and lifeless browns, give life to the fungus and beatles far down
Into the earch for regeneration, of giant trees and vegetation.
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Tickles of purple from heather and berry, a chatter of blue tits who giggle so merry
The clatter of hooves of the galloping horse, flashing through prickly butternut gorse
I sit on the bench and clouds float on by, carried by luminous glistening skies
Take a walk on the forest, but, tread softly my friend....
for the forest is turning to us to depend
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The Hawk
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Fly on steady wings, flap and glide through air
Graceful, silent, strong, violent predator
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Hunting in the twilight, through oak and beach and pine
In ultraviolet hues, to fly the setting sun
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Run little bird, and rabbit, this hawk is Cerridwen
She seeks the youthful Gwion, who shifted to a wren
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She came from otter bitch, from hawk she'll shift to wren
To eat the wheat of Gwion so he can be born again
6-6-12
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The clumps trudge up hills of squelching mud,
6 wellingtons, 6 stout walking boots and 12 paws of varying sizes
Chat flows and grows and swirls and spirals and is taken off by eager winds
Maybe someone somewhere, at another time and place, will hear our stories?
The 6 wellingtons, 6 stout walking boots and 12 paws add momentum
As fiercely as the wind blows, the sun shines and sprinkles glass like bobbles across each fern, each leaf
and trunk
Those who dream under the moon far away may hear our whispers and giggles and forest chitter chatter
But what if the wind changes as they frown with confusion at our indecisiveness?
"This way? oh no, that way?" "that ways too steep, this ways too long" Where is 'The Clump'?
The wind slows, and the 6 wellingtons and 6 stout walking boots and 12 paws begin to struggle
The sun beams on one side as we fall to bench and burrow
Flies sit on wellingtons and soak up the heat and water, reflecting walking sticks, silver and shining like a warriors sword
6 faces stuck in time, immersed in creativity and thought
Pens scribble
Cars pass by
Small money spiders cross the page and scurry over knee
Faces stuck in forest time, the clumps deep in thought
The wind changes to a breeze
Will our faces ever return?
Dogs sunken into the long grass
Their coats gleamed in shade and sunlight
6 wellingtons
6 stout walking boots
12 sleeping paws
and 6 faces stuck when the wind turned.
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