Tag: Play

The Seeking Winds of May

This poem I’ve written is a herald of summer, but it has just as much meaning in October!

Down the winding lane I walk
hid by hedge and under bough
that skirl their leafy sounds anyhow
in the seeking winds of May.

Going nowhere with a purpose
talking secrets with my feet
marching to the cyclic beat
of natural worlds at play.

Pausing at the path smooth head
over which the white clouds scud
stopping, watching cows chew cud
hear the dark horse neigh.

Ambition-less, I am asexual
just conscious of my nose
down I go where the river flows
to greet the end of day.

Not wanting less than everything
I sit rod-less on its banks
eyeing the silver fishes’ shanks
oblivious of time.

Then Diana overshadowing
Bow in hand, fey and feminine
makes mine eyes to inward shine
and dispelling feet of clay…

I ride the seeking winds of May.

Loves Chant

Before the ability to speak and interact consciously with the world you had a clear idea of what made you happy. Consciously comfort from eating, sleeping, and knowing you were cared for -feelings arising from the instinctual urge to live. That urge is a maker, a creator born of a higher Self. When we get older and ‘put away childish things’, see in a mirror darkly, know only in part, we forget who we are! Giving rebirth to your creative nature is the road to regaining your true identity -love of oneself.

Who moves my hand tapping the keys,
whirls my head, weakens my knees,
fingers my heart, turns works into art?

Who is the voice stopping all fears,
providing true rest, drying all tears,
shaking my head, raising the dead?

Am I the puppet in a God like play
centre stage on a Summer’s day
pulled by strings any which way?

How am I able make gold from waste,
hold the tongue and check its haste,
cause this poem chant like a heart?

Feel the force that heals by hand,
Instantly causing the lame to stand,
Or know how I’m able to speak?

It can only be Love that truth of old
Creation’s cause made to one mould
Power to all to prevent Man’s fall.