Let me go Let me run in the early dew To brush against the laurel’s leaves Tread the cool earth’s cushion And linger in the dampness of the silent wood.
Before the cooing of the collared bird, The bite of the new day’s busy-ness, Its threats and promises, Breaks into the stillness of my morning world And ruptures this mood of mystery Of thrill and almost menace, Leaving me to face another day of reality One more acceptance of the wrenching truth.
Yes, my youth brought many vital moments among my native hills. Such interludes return now in flashback and in dreams in vignettes and in echoes; instances of acute sensitivity, memories more precious and persistent as year passes into year.
I wish I had been more alive then, more interwoven with my surroundings, instinctively attached to the skies above and to the rolling landscape below.
For there, on the vast wide-open moorland where, above my breathing, what I heard, was only the sound of the bees visiting the sun-yellow gorse, and the sighing rustle of the breeze playing amongst the curls of bracken, the blackbirds circling above in the sundown dusk, calls of the curlew, lapwing and meadow pipit lost in broom , hidden in heather.
Sometimes, in the bliss of solitude’s memory, I have known a disregard for time itself, and I sense I would happily reach eternal slumber in the rapturous throes of such longing.
When Green Hill led to Highcliff Nab Up from Kemplah Fields, Then when all my world was young And all was meant to be, Life was enriched by Nature’s call; The world was one to me.
Now, when old age has taken youth And life resolves in retrospection, Those childhood days become intense, The fount of my reflection.
I feel, I touch, the close-knit turf That dressed the hills I trod. The waves of bracken still haunt my mind As if bespoke of God, And heather, clothing moor and dale, Purpling the timeless scene, Rekindles every hope I have Been granted in the life I’ve seen.
Summer is not rain Nor is rain summer But each needs the other Cannot be without both being
Just as winter requires the sun to shine and display its splendour to reflect its ice particles into the crystal diamonds of exuberant life So the rain complements the summer sun dampening its ardour allowing it to refresh and renew
Both asserting the exuberance of a Natural heritage wherein all is related to all and all is as it should be
As I breathe in the wild garlic woods I resurrect a memory. In bursts of fiery vision Both eyes and nostrils Recall the path Descending without haste From cornfield to woodland dell To fern and rill Beneath the high arches Of the viaduct Soft tread over the bracken-strewn turf Beside the bubbling beck To meet the waiting waves On that bleached beach Promising not only present joy But with purpose Though without foreknowledge Building a cornerstone Of my being Nature’s Marble Halls Erected to sustain life To ensure that richness of experience This continuity of pleasure Which brings meaning now When I had thought Only the memory remained
You promise a delicious bonus I wonder what joy that could bring Perhaps, being a tell-tale romantic, And allowing conjecture to sing, A cruise on a tropical ocean, Where mermen and mermaids will bring Their wisdom, their unceasing love songs, To promise delight in the spring.
Reverse Cinquain: Simply a Crapsey Cinquain in which the syllable count appears in reverse order. Adelaide Crapsey’s cinquains utilized a syllable count of 2-4-6-8-2. Therefore, the syllable count of the Reverse Cinquain is 2-8-6-4-2.