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POETRY AND PLANTS

When I was angry, I went to the river -. New water on old stones, the patience of pools. Let the will find its own pace. Said a voice inside me. I was learning to believe,. And the rest will take care of itself. The fish were facing upstream, tiny trout. Suspended like souls, in their aqueous element. I and my godlike shadow. Fell across them, and they disappeared. All this happened deep in the mountains -. Anger, trout and shadow. With the river flowing through them. Far away, invisible but imagined,.

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POETRY AND PLANTS | clairenewcastle.blogspot.com Reviews

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When I was angry, I went to the river -. New water on old stones, the patience of pools. Let the will find its own pace. Said a voice inside me. I was learning to believe,. And the rest will take care of itself. The fish were facing upstream, tiny trout. Suspended like souls, in their aqueous element. I and my godlike shadow. Fell across them, and they disappeared. All this happened deep in the mountains -. Anger, trout and shadow. With the river flowing through them. Far away, invisible but imagined,.

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1 poetry and plants

2 the river

3 harry clifton

4 posted by

5 clairenewcastle

6 no comments

7 st patrick's day

8 as that in

9 the big sleep

10 the long goodbye

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POETRY AND PLANTS | clairenewcastle.blogspot.com Reviews

https://clairenewcastle.blogspot.com

When I was angry, I went to the river -. New water on old stones, the patience of pools. Let the will find its own pace. Said a voice inside me. I was learning to believe,. And the rest will take care of itself. The fish were facing upstream, tiny trout. Suspended like souls, in their aqueous element. I and my godlike shadow. Fell across them, and they disappeared. All this happened deep in the mountains -. Anger, trout and shadow. With the river flowing through them. Far away, invisible but imagined,.

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1

POETRY AND PLANTS: UNTITLED

http://clairenewcastle.blogspot.com/2015/05/untitled_11.html

And the earth's orbit mars. The changeless map of stars. The splintered light which now. Gently probes my eye. Is of a star that burned. When the Scots fired the land,. When the Norsemen robbed the dales. And hacked their names on the fells,. Or when the iceberg lakes. Elbowed among the rocks. And carried the Devil's stone. To the hill above the town,. Where through my dormer bay. Drizzles the Milky Way. Note: only a member of this blog may post a comment. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom).

2

POETRY AND PLANTS: IN THE SILENCE

http://clairenewcastle.blogspot.com/2015/05/in-silence.html

The silence of my days. Deepens, the wind is still:. Unbroken cloud or haze. Wraps up the world until. The minds which once seemed full. Seem empty, dark and dull. I speak, and no one hears:. I listen, no one speaks. There is no sound of tears,. No laughter. No one seeks. The future in the past. Where it must come at last. And is the future new? They say so, who ignore. Adam and Eve show through. The murder done by Cain. Is daily done again. Celebrate if you will. The triumph of your genes:.

3

POETRY AND PLANTS: MORNING GLORIES

http://clairenewcastle.blogspot.com/2015/05/morning-glories_21.html

By the well side, morning glories I transplanted,. Wild tendrils climbing the rail, angling this way and that:. Before I know it the well rope's been completely seized -. Now I beg water from the house next door. Translated by Burton Watson). Note: only a member of this blog may post a comment. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). View my complete profile. Simple template. Template images by A330Pilot.

4

POETRY AND PLANTS: INDOLENCE

http://clairenewcastle.blogspot.com/2015/05/indolence_20.html

Beyond the corruption both of rust and moth,. I loaf and invite my soul, calmly I slump. On the crowded sidewalk, blessed to the gills on hemp;. Mine is a sanctified and holy sloth. The guilty and polluted come to view. My meek tranquility, the small tin cup. That sometimes runneth over. They fill it up. To assuage the torments they are subject to. And hasten to the restoratives of sin,. While I, a flower-child, beautiful and good,. Remain inert, as St. Matthew said I should:. View my complete profile.

5

POETRY AND PLANTS: TRADITIONAL BELFAST STREET RHYME

http://clairenewcastle.blogspot.com/2015/05/traditional-belfast-street-rhyme.html

TRADITIONAL BELFAST STREET RHYME. Holy Father, what'll I do,. I've come to confess my sins to you. Holy Father, I killed a cat. You'll have to suffer, my child, for that. Holy Father, what'll it be? Forty days without any tea. Father dear, it's far too long. You've done, my child, a very great wrong. But Father, dear, 'twas a Protestant cat. Good, my girl, you did right to do that. Note: only a member of this blog may post a comment. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). View my complete profile.

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POETRY AND PLANTS

When I was angry, I went to the river -. New water on old stones, the patience of pools. Let the will find its own pace. Said a voice inside me. I was learning to believe,. And the rest will take care of itself. The fish were facing upstream, tiny trout. Suspended like souls, in their aqueous element. I and my godlike shadow. Fell across them, and they disappeared. All this happened deep in the mountains -. Anger, trout and shadow. With the river flowing through them. Far away, invisible but imagined,.

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