up

branches

greening

bear

the dead

leaves

still

to fall

as moving

others

give

dry sound

the day

sharp

hill tops

plain

unspoken

the horse

in thin air

shines

here the end

life

a ridge

the tree line

the very act

of looking down

            •       

 

verbalizing silence

i can make a minute
hear within this shot
of sun where geese
with young tear grass
from the earth’s scalp
i can fill this time 
with the never noticed 
noise they make
when buzzards pass
or heavy bees drone by
and i can hear feathers form
a drum above young down
and sound vibrate
in the wing space 
sheltered there
and i regret that sounds like these
will soon be lost to rain
and the memories of paper

                •                

 

river

once i was 
as high         
headed            
as a falling stream 
passing over stones
not stopping to move
any but the smallest
from amongst 
the rocks turned
smooth 

now I’m almost silent
with the silt i bear
while the songs
that roar
within me 
moved mountain

 

    •       

The poems on this page are changed regularly.

These are taken from the latest publication 

carreg las (the blue stones).