Storing Magic: A Week of Small Stones

Thursday, 12 January 2012

A Week of Small Stones

January 6th

Bare birch branches
brush the sky
banishing contrails

January 7th

Blue stained-glass sky
framed
by the monkey-puzzle tree

January 8th

Solitary Sunday
companionable
the drip of water from the gutter

January 9th

Looking up -
a sinister plume of cloud
slowly moving east

January 10th

New Year gale -
hurtling past
the garden chairs
I meant to put away

January 11th

Late again -
time slips through my grasp
like a bar of soap

January 12th

The door blows open
sunlight
rolls a golden carpet down the hall

3 comments:

Cynthia12 January 2012 at 15:56
Ah...a wonderful string of stones. I love how the "bare birch branches brush the sky, banishing contrails," and "sunlight rolls a golden carpet down the hall." Very nice!
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Hilaire15 January 2012 at 05:41
Thank you, Cynthia and Teri. I'm enjoying your small stones too - evocative word pictures of your worlds, bringing them into my kitchen in Wales :-)
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Mystic Meandering20 January 2012 at 09:31
You are creating a wonderful river, Hilaire! I especially like the last one. I can visualize that golden carpet of light down the hall... I finally got some posted myself... Come take a peek :) Christine
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The ability to utter testifies to the fact that we are far removed from the vast array of meaning that is our home... At the Source, words would not be necessary, for meaning would be produced instantly... Those who can't stand to be trapped in a place where language tends to distort move into poetry, chant, rhythm, and ritual to speed up their journey home. Poetry and ritual evoke the world behind words, the world of meaning that resides, in its fullness, in nature.

Malidoma Somé

The merciful word, the singing word and the good word: May the power of these three sacred things be on men and women for evermore.

Irish Blessing

The Many-Skilled Poet

The many-skilled poet will be wise and clever if they be given to questioning;
clear is the skill of which you hear:
enquiry is the door to knowledge.

Madh fiarfaigh theach badh feasach glic an éigse ilchleasach; solas an cleas-sa ad-chluinidh:
doras feasa fiarfaighidh.

from Féilscríbhinn Torna

Three things that give amplitude to a poet:
knowledge of histories, the poetic art, and ancient verse.

Tri pheth a beir y gerdawr uot yn amyl:
kyfarwydyt ystoryaeu, a bardoniaeth, a hengerd.

from the Red Book of Hergest

…the poet is occupied with the frontiers of consciousness beyond which words fail, though meaning still exists.

T.S.Eliot