In my ear
Fairy stories beckoned me
Hinting at ingress
Looking there of course
Each stone turned
Discovering vibrant life
Cloaking … Mystery
Eggs don’t bounce
No doubt about it
Yolk and white
Seems that’s all we left
Let’s take care
Pitfalls surround us
Yet no one
Is busy constructing them
But the I we are
Let us keep an open mind
For some background go to http://www.bbc.com/news/uk-wales-mid-wales-41809852
There now, lay it all down,
The soft memory and the memory of hard bone.
After the year’s first true frost
A dead sheep lies in the field becoming a dance of hawks and ravens.
And on a lonely hillside unremarked
A blaze has born the babies away.
A smudge of smoke and the light of morning
Is no prayer of peace to ones who wait
Empty-hearted for better news.
The village, warm now in sun, silent.
Thoughts unthought of before – friends vanished,
Those known, now unplaced, a hollowness
Around memory clung to.
It is an uncertain anchor to hold on to –
This world that blinks apart from day to day.
Should we rise and flow like the oak leaves
On the cold dark currents of the Irfon?
Or wrap around like ivy, cling like lichen bloom
To this weathered stone.
We are a thin soil…
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Spread across our posts
You and I
I come across them again
And I shed a tear
There you stand
Though often seated
An odd infatuation
Given all are one