Poppit Sands

Time

Young water bounces down the hillside
Spraying over stones, racing downwards,
Joyously playing with gravity, 
Surging, spilling, tumbling, through, around, 
Over, between, anything in its path:
Exuberant in the adventure.

Later, in more tranquil peaceful times,
When gliding becomes the choice movement 
Such lively energy is forgotten.
The inexorable path to the sea 
Becomes the vague purpose now,
With expanding banks and lazy ooze
Taking the place of action. Deep pools
Hold basking fish, swimmers, dragon flies.

The river's slow, sometimes stagnant flow
Lacks power but provides passing beauty.
Light plays games and creates reflections,
Not those of old men but banks, flowers
Trees; nature seen in double vision
Repeating itself for a brief eternity.

A Particular Loss

When darkness comes our world shrinks,
If sight shapes our boundaries;
When the soul finds it is trapped
In winter, where Spring is just hope
Waiting is cold endurance.
There will be rebirth, faith will bring answers,
But idling, hoping, wondering, trying 
To be cheerful while a new way is found,
In the bleakness of emptiness,
In a place where security is no more,
Creates quick sands on the beach.

Early morning at Foxton Locks

Nature

Tawny amongst green

A fox scouts prey in the kale,

Above, buzzards watch.

Finding Balance

As the miles pass so do the clouds,
The pain of humiliation eases;
My soul's bruises shrivel as stories
Of world horror replace them.
A paper bought to pass the time
Brings equilibrium, shrinking
The relevance of those
   Who did not dare

Who kept silent
           Who wouldn't commit.
The train moves towards the hills.

Dartmoor Gorse

Granite

The grooves are still there, 
Pressed into the granite by weight:
The weight of transporting granite.
The old tramway is gone now
The mine's emptiness has filled,
Water seeping into the vacuum
Making an unlikely pond, leaving
Dartmoor's history in a groove.

Rocks resist man, remain aloof,
Impregnable til greater forces
throw them asunder, swallowing
Villages in their volcanic thrust,
Reminding man of his insignificance.
When nature ravages and storms,
We are cast aside or enveloped.

Rosebay Willowherb

The mauve-pink army

stand straight beside the river,

spears waiting for charge.

Kimpton in August