I have always used the written word to explore ideas and gather in my thoughts; sometimes these can be longer pieces of prose, but more recently they seem to appear as poems that arrive almost fully-formed.
They feel like blurts … so that’s what I call them!
Words
An Invitation
(The River Calls)
Sticks in hair
And mud on skin
Gifts and treasures found within
Eyes turned skyward
Soothes the soul
Return to oneness makes us whole
Tear stained cheeks
And smiling face
Gently leaning into Grace
Peaceful wandering in the wild
Our ever loving
Own soul child
Moving onwards, come to know
Meet at the River,
Join the flow
Ode to a Crow
Oh Mr Crow
We thank you so
‘Tho much maligned
(which is unkind)
Once souls move on
To life anew
You flutter down
And take your due
Recycling discarded shells
You keep life’s cycle
Turning well
Garden Magic #2
Sandy, loamy, soggy clay
Find a garden
Go and play
Get that dirt
Beneath your nails
It is a balm
For all that ails
Sowing seeds
And tilling earth
Coppice wood
To fill the hearth
Growing veg
To fill your belly
Feels more worthwhile
Than watching telly
Planting flowers
Of every hue
Connects us to
Our nature true
So if you’re bored
Nothing to do
A garden somewhere
Waits for you
To co-create
And get involved
Whilst re-connecting
With your soul