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The river always pulled this way,
quiet in its flowing.
I followed close
but had no way of knowing.
I only had a longing,
undefined, unsatisfied,
a well too deep to fathom.
I bowed my head in sorrow.

But life is strange.
The river curved and flowed away.
I could only follow.
It lead me to a pasture.
The waters pooled.
The stars, reflected,
shifted,
a secret, silent mirror.

When night was at its darkest,
I made a lonely sojourn here,
So tired from this journey.

I lit a fire.
It flamed
It burned.
I built it to a beacon.
You saw it where you wandered.

Home was never truly home
until you came to share it.
The light was never quite so bright
nor the fire so strong
until you sat beside me.
And now each night
I sit with you
and count my lucky stars

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Flood

i wanted love to stay and grow
but wishing never made it so

the tides have turned
and now the river’s in full flow
the water only runs downstream
the consequences just sank in

the clouds have covered up my heart
as islands slowly drift apart

the land will flood
and i sit numb

When the blackbird sings

You tell me of bad weather news
And how the price of food went up.
You quote the words of politicians,
I agree they’re open lies.
You worry there will be a drought.
I think about the falling rivers
And how the willows give it shade.
My mind begins to drift.

I know my eyes are far away.
I try to hold on to your words
Like broken branches floating by.
I sense a sigh you’re holding in.
Yes,
I’m doing it again.
I smile and look in your eyes,
Signifying my return.

You speak about the greater issues,
How your life is troubling you.
I nod.
You know I understand.
It’s true that life is problematic.
It’s true I’m tired of being strong.
I wish to tightly grasp your hand
And take you through another door,
The door that’s slowly opening now,
That leads into another land.
I hear your words,
I hear a song,
That echoes in the depth of pools.

There’s only one place left to hide.
The leaves are growing up our walls,
There’s mud and ash across the floor.
The wind that’s blown the window wide
Brings a scent of woodland paths
And bluebells by the flowing stream.
I can hear the blackbird now,
It signals that it’s time to leave.
My heart is very far away.
I dream of other worlds.
I’ve seen.

Lovers

if they walked
down the street
hand in hand
in this town
they would stop all the traffic
in no time

more magic than movies
their beauty surpasses this place

people may wonder
as the crowds part around them,
like water around an island,
why her mouth
has that other-world touch
that slight strangeness
he loves
so much

his smile looks like music
she walks like a river
his eyes dream of forests
there’s a glow, there’s a shine
in the softness of skin
that’s so hard to define

their words
are not spoken
but the birds,
in concealing
her wings,
overheard
their song

Dreaming Bob Dylan

I fell asleep and dreamed a dream.
I was with my old lover, we lay in bed.
The things in our room were re-arranged.
I said, ‘The bed side table should be here,
there is nowhere now i can rest my book
and the shelf is gone, and your memory jar.’

To get to this place we had travelled far.
I went outside and i saw where we were.
We were in a hotel by the Taj Mahal,
the shining white palace of love,
and a river flowed right past our door.
‘I have been for a walk’ i said to you
you answered me with a warning smile
‘You cant be too careful with children here,
you must hold their hands wherever you go.”
I said ‘yes, it’s true, but our children are grown,
they have their own lives, and their own homes,
they are taller than me, the nest is flown”

You told me you’d been out the night before
and met a man who got you drunk.
You showed me a head that was covered in gold
it was huge and heavy but the face was kind.
You tipped it up and the liquor flowed
out of its neck and onto the ground.
There were shallow waters all around.

I heard a guitar and I turned about.
I saw Bob Dylan was standing there.
His face in the free-wheelin’ time of life,
a time when he shone like a new born star.
I listened to his songs as the river flowed by.
I sat by the river and talked with him.
He didn’t say much. He looked resigned.

My lover said ‘There’s a wish fulfilled,
You can tick that one off the bucket list.’
I said ‘Wishes are useless in times like this.
I think Bob Dylan’s time has come.
There’s no place left for us to run.’
It makes me feel lost, he’s a friend,
a friend I maybe never had
but i played music so long with him
blending his guitar with my violin
and now it’s the end of Bob Dylan’s dream,
a beautiful dream. It’s makes me sad.’

An Angel in New Jersey

I flew the far Atlantic
to a place unknown
I flew to see a stranger,
a mystery. to me.
The streets were full of cars,
humming as they passed.

I climbed an empty stair.
The steps were cold and bare.
The door was open wide,
I entered there

A crumpled body,
in the corner of a room.
I knew that he would die
If I had not been there.
I spoke to him
he did not reply.

I cradled him
I shook him
dialled 911
the paramedics didnt come
i left the building at a run

i became so lost out there
the city was so huge
i was in despair

in a square
above the town
an angel came to me
and took me to the river
i saw a spanning bridge
the angel told me wait
don’t cross, the time’s not now

i waited in a rocking boat
by the river shore
and there the man came to me
a woman by his side
i knew she was his bride
dead long years before
he spoke to me
he shook my hand

‘we are going now” he said
i knew that he was dead
they danced off down the street
their happiness complete

i asked the angel ”can i dance?”
”when the time is right” she said
”that dance is for the dead”

The River of Awen

where the river flows I may never know
but i remember the spring in the mountains
where it falls from great heights
and runs clear and bright
tumbling in glistening fountains
and wends its way down
replenishing wells
filling the thirsty cup

inspiration of dreams
it’s the source of all life
my mind flows away on its ripples
i follow its flow
down from the source
to its greener pastures
.
without it there’s drought
the dryness of earth comes to nothing

In the Garden

I lost you,

somewhere in the garden,

where a path took a turn

downhill.

 

There’s a tangle of roses entwined.

Some of them have dark thorns

that cling to your skirts

as you pass.

 

The paths are a tangle, a puzzle,

twisted around like a rope.

I can’t  undo or decipher them

but I heard a distant sound,

amongst all the songs of the birds,

the gentle play of a fountain.

I need to slake my thirst.

 

I am sure I will find you there.

I met you once by a river.

By water I’ll meet you again

 

 

The Bridge Over the Weir

 

 

weir bridge

 

a mirror reflecting a bridge

blue span across a calm pool

with a foaming drop to the other side

where swans drift in gentle spray

lazily begging food

 

i lean over and watch them

warm sun beating down on my back

so peaceful here in summer

 

when the floods come in winter

this is another place

the water rises and roars

the river booms

vibrating the beams

close to my feet

 

debris in swirling bundles

crashes into the bridge

a whole tree lodged on the edge

in muddied, tumultuous foam

 

the banks of the river burst

threatening houses

and making a lake of the park

where the swans glide idly in pools

 

they are undisturbed

while my heart pounds

to the booming beat of the bridge

 

 

 

 

ripples

pebble falling

floating into hidden depths

it settled on the river bed

to rest there

long and lasting

rolled only by the river

moved by natures forces

while the ripples hit the bank

and rippled back again

 

where do the ripples go?

how far would they continue

if there was nothing

to contain them?

would they go on and on

beyond my power of seeing?

 

words are just like pebbles

reaching hidden depths

they too have their ripples

bouncing off each other

spreading outwards

in ways we never know