The Waves

In senescence -  I harbour and float;

In a universe of light I drift.
There is no sound
Save the lifting breath of fabric,
There is no movement,
Save the glinting warming sun.
There is no sound
Save the thrum of my blood.

Light and waves
Dapple against the glass,
The curtain, printed limpet
With flowers, blows easily
Across the warmth of light,
Lazy and blue, sighing,
"Back and forth, back and forth".

And so the blossoms bloom,
And on the opaque blue
The spangle of tangled fishies
Are shiny with light, flitting
And lilting on the lisp of cotton.
Time flows and I dream.
And in this fishy mead, this meadow heaven -

I close my eyes to see my dreams.

In appreciation of Virgina Woolf
VH 2009

Thanet Adventure

Richborough Towers - Beside the River Stour, 8th June 2009

Stolen time it is when summer flowers
And glistens in the morning sun.
Down to the Stour we trip,
Under the sun and the strawberry moon,
Breaking bread among the flags,
Trampling over the rushes,
Feeling the surge of the on-coming tide,
Sensing another field of vision.

June, the gateway to the 'other',
It would serve us well to pay attention.
'Dies Natalis' for Mens Bona.
Good God, good mind, personification
Of Thought's day, we salute you.
This trip to some other side takes our breath away.
Sleepy now, as lambs they dream
Hyperboloids of Shukhov,
Thanet's dark towers,
Tucked up beside the Stour.

Three million tons of coal and Richborough
Lays bare its bones in peace and soon,
With the rain gently falling,
We take cover to watch flotsam floating.
Inspired by Grotowski we drift into the drip,  drip, drip of the play.
Our figs are cornucopic.
We leave and follow the actors downstream.
Softly falls the rain.

And running down to Pegwell Bay by bus,
We hunger - wondering about Hengist and Horsa,
Asking how St Augustine landed his boat,
How he converted the rough islanders of Ruoihm
With his zeal and cruel judgements,
And did he notice in the eventide,
With its skies blossoming from green to pink.
The pretty multicoloured parrots?
The famous Thanet parrots of the wayside trees.

Goodnight! Sleep tight!
You that dream of palms and exotic fruits.
We find the pathway home and take our leave.


VH 2009

Middum Sumera

In the Eye of the White Horse

Solstice, we walk under the midday sun.
Breathing in the cloudless skies,
Smiling round, catching minty blue,
Brimming beach-like and drawing fresh,
Our teeth glinting, bared to face
The Westering breeze.

Summer, and we, drifting lightly
To daisy down, to stay afloat,
High to the eye of the Uffington horse
Cut rich in the thick leaf-green sward,
Pearly spell of chalk, blanching white
Against the tide of time, take our time.

Standing cool on the equine summit,
With the day luxurious long, the immutable dot
Casts glances to the edge beyond all human knowing.
And we, who stand in a haze of dreams,
Feel your beading eye casting beams across the land.

Let's saddle your scudding form now
To ride far and wide across the curving vale,
High above the bloom of wayside brides
That line the fields
And lace the lanes.

Time rolls on, and with each wave
We cast our nets high up to the rounded beech.
Looking down we see them,
They that dance to the water's edge,
Caught up in a maze of rhythm,
Swaying across the hill to the soft edge of the vale.
Play the turfs a tune my dear and see the grasses dance.

We are insouciant,
Lost in the fullness of things, we look,
Glimpsing into the world pool,
Poised, not dancing now, but skimming shadow stones
Across the twilight of the next generation.


VH 25th June 2009

Summer Rain

Early this morning when the sky
Darkened from azure to grey
We sensed the gathering imminence
Of rain, and built our rough cover over.

Last night, talking late on the phone, we noticed
The holes, renting larger and more gaping,
Rotting our foundations
And letting in the damp.

Was it Caesar who went to war
Stepped over the Rubicon.
Is it now we know
The river has changed its course,
The vital line is not so absolute.

In a clap of thunder the air is broken.
And, cold as the shower in the back room bath,
Against the darkening green,
Lines of tears run down.

Stepping over the line you have to find it first.
A Rubicon indeed.

VH 2009

This Night Has Stretched

This night has stretched its long delays and won.
The creatures that abhor a yearning, slap me down.
Too late the morning star's forever hung too high,
With mercury flitting on his winged feet about the place,
Busy with lifes messages while his venus waits.

This venial journey has to end so why not now?
No poet of a former age contests to win
The cosy dwelling with cosy mate to snuggle down.
Slavering in pint pots, patting belly in chimney pots,
Tucked up in bed.

Pain has come first to learn the lesson.

VH May 2009

Comely Order

Flames that know no homelier hearth than yours
Expend their warmth in vibrant light.
Readily given are the flowers of undying colour;
The youthful years of sacrifice are not forgotten.
This is your gift to your children and your children's children.

This woman's realm is full of soft extensions,
One womb, two births ,
Two fruits nourished by creative order.
Motherhood recalls the mind, gently soothing away
The stresses from the outside world.

Inside you created a garden of sorts, a solice.
Blending rich rosied fragrance into pictures resplendent.
Yielding form and shape, calm and secure.
This was your generous world enriched and filled
With love for your little daughters.

You should never have left the ethereal sphere,
Yours is forever the world of the child.
Too late it was to save your tender soul
From violent intrusions of the male world.
Too late to save your grown up daughters from your actions.

Long ago and far away - we learn to forgive...

VH 1980

The Hours

Horae - Goddess of the order of nature and the seasons, stationed at the doors of Olympus.

The Cocktail of Mutuality...

Why two people need each other, why they will each be better together than either of them would be on their own. 'Your observant gaze which rests so still and pure on things, never leads you to the errors to which speculations, guided by capricious imagination and merely obeying its own rules, so easily falls prey' ( Schiller to Goether 1794)

Political progress can occur only if there is a transformation of people's inner lives, otherwise factions are merely the voices of human fragments seeking dominance over society...