after raging, dying, passes
leaving debris in its path
whispers at the window glass
whistles through the tiles and rafters
bringing cooling breeze at last
let’s fly, and fly, fly far away,
over the hills, a far flung thing
who’s to reason or wonder why?
i see no reason here to stay
i can hear the fairies sing!
have you forgotten we once flew?
the hour is late but not too late
i have a wish for morning dew
and mountains high
and rushing rivers wide and deep
and the holy grass beneath my feet
deep in the woods
where the shadows play
follow the hare
spin three times
bow to the moon
here comes the breeze
here comes the spin
whirling like leaves up to the sky
the wind that’s strong will lift us high
but don’t let it blow your top knot off!
swaying with the breeze
always dancing with the clowns
until the clouds fall
a summer breeze blew in today
it swept me off my feet
all the world has turned about
my madness is complete
but this is not insanity
it’s sanity profound
magic cast a sudden spell
and I’m still on the ground
the earth is still beneath my feet
the sun is in the sky
this perfumed breeze is one i know
from very long ago
love returns with brighter stars
above, around, below
this gentle, soft, return of love
has melted all my snow
A breeze comes
The trees sway
Prior to the breeze
All is stillness
The mind is a breeze
Follow it back to its source
And become still
I have heard it said that purple and mauve
stand for memory, nostalgia, or loss.
Lavender scented cupboards spring to mind.
I know that purple is yellow and blue,
mixed by an artist’s brush
Summer skies, cornflowers, sunflowers,
sunshine and bluebells in spring,
bunting across the street,
blue doors in white walls
under an awning that flapped in the wind,
a boat on a tossing sea breeze,
blue ripples across the bay,
a beach ball of summer stripes thrown up to the sun,
the bucket and spade we left behind
on that glowing yellow day
Our memories shine in full colour
or age to a lesser thing
Where was it, who was I and when?
A dream, almost remembered on waking
But gone, almost, just out of reach,
There at the back of my minds eye
Imprinted, unfocused yet real.
Was it long, or in passing, brief,
When was it our fingertips touched?
Just beyond reach is a thought of you,
A word on the tip of my tongue,
A perfume caught, a breeze recalled,
A scent I know but can’t name.
If I don’t think about it, I’ll know.
Now it is, what it was, what it is.
I like it so.
a tenuous thread blown on a breeze
woven into a net, it saves us
you pull on the thread, i feel it,
a bowline that twitches under my rib
sometimes that pull can hurt me
when i know that you are feeling some pain
wrapping the thread round my fingers
I hold it to bring you back closer again
the connection between us all can be frail
we can twist it, strain it and break it,
or twine it, thread it and weave it
into a beautiful knot that is strong
The bowline is an ancient and simple knot used to form a fixed loop at the end of a rope. It has the virtues of being both easy to tie and untie and it is easy to untie after being subjected to a heavy load. But the bowline knots name has an earlier meaning, dating to the age of sail. On a square-rigged ship, a bowline is a rope that holds the edge of a square sail towards the bow of the ship and into the wind, preventing it from being taken aback. A ship is said to be on a “taut bowline” when these lines are made as taut as possible in order to sail close-hauled to the wind.
the day they met
the wind turned
in slow pirouette
the curtains at the window,
caught and pulled by the breeze,
flew away to the open sea
the girl runs from house to garden
from garden to house and back again
thinking only of running
thinking only of the garden and the house
this house, this garden
the breeze and the sunlight pooled on the grass
and the swaying of the poplar trees
she has no memory of any other place
the delusions of the world unravelled
unspun they slipped away
this world complete enough