Giles Watson is a Facebook friend, and I first encountered this poem of his when he shared it on that site recently.
It’s a remarkable piece of work and deserves your attention.
The words are on YouTube if you want to read it.
Giles Watson is a Facebook friend, and I first encountered this poem of his when he shared it on that site recently.
It’s a remarkable piece of work and deserves your attention.
The words are on YouTube if you want to read it.
I would ease this heart hurt rawness
Be the doc leaf balm to your stung skin
Wrap myself softly around the soreness
In your soul. Spit, faith and relief.
That warm, animal self, the puppy lick
The purr that soothes, the paw, the fur
To nuzzle and comfort as creatures do
When sorrow is simple, easy to address.
These shoulders broad enough
To put between a person and the world,
This body a pillow in face of weariness
Places to lay your head.
Warmth for the chill in your bones,
In your spirit, skin heat to ward off
The loneliness for a little while
Sleep safe beside me.
No matter how we complicate life
In essence we are just soft creatures
In need of shelter, craving safety
Asking to be welcomed home.
Prick me, and I will bleed
My wounds stay open
Skin bloodstained
The damage painted
For easy viewing.
Break open my skin
For my own good
Apparently.
Test me
Test me
Test me again.
What am I?
Why do I bleed
Still?
What is wrong
That I do not heal?
Stab me with your solutions
Solving nothing.
Investigate me
Down to the bone
Under the microscope
You find no answers
I am still bleeding.
An illness with no name
No diagnosis
No reality.
A being without explanation
May as well be a fairy
For all the good it will do.
Stab me again
As though this time
It could be different.
(art by Dr Abbey. Text by me, and I don’t heal injuries made with steel easily, which causes me all kinds of difficulty around conventional medicine. )
The crane wife
Knows herself perfectly,
Cannot tell if she is human
Or crane.
Transcends these ways of being
Entirely and only herself.
Knows her feminine soul,
Desirous of egg and man,
Not crane or baby.
Walks between worlds
Loves without compromise
Kills when she must.
She is not here
To help you make sense
Of the world.
She is not a parable to guide you
These are not answers
To your unvoiced question.
You are not a crane wife
And must find your own truth.
(Based on a true story about a crane – you can find that over here https://kottke.org/18/08/my-crane-wife )
Some years ago, I donated some of my poetry to The Druid Network – it’s still there, with ‘Bryn’ on it as a name. Bryn is my first name (Brynneth, for long) – I mostly use Nimue when I’m writing (my middle name) because Bryn Brown doesn’t quite have the right swing as an author name. In everyday life I use both names interchangeably and am happy to have people call me whichever they prefer.
Recently, I had a contact via the Druid Network from a fantastic Druid chap who found some of that poetry and has recorded some of my work. I love his reading, and the richness his voice brings to my words. So, over to Davog Rynne…
It will be legendary
I would live deliciously
Not the safe or quiet life
No certainty, and risk enough.
There have been bruises, breaks
Wounds that left me bloody,
Battered and bereft.
I would drink deep from the cup,
Vine God magic on my lips,
Taste the flesh of my days,
Bite hard into life even as life sinks
Teeth into me. I will pay for this,
In tears and sweat, sleepless nights
Haunted hours reaching after wonder,
Taking leaps of faith in the dark,
Knowing I am bound to fall.
Deliberate in flying too close to the limits
The sun. I will burn for this moment of glory.
I will not be tame or quiet
The taste of taboo sweetness brings
The apple rich fall from grace.
Rejecting ignorance and innocence
For the ecstasy of knowing and experience.
Reaching for pomegranates, goblin fruit
The forbidden, the fairy wine
The merciless delights.
I will live deliciously.
What if we planted trees
Our urban spaces aren’t places for people
We get sick and sad, we go mad
Sucking in polluted air from grey streets
We need to leave the cars, make room for leaves
Turn our urban jungle from grim to green
Make it live, make it breathe, be serene.
What if we planted trees?
Scientists in studies the world over
Show us with numbers we need to hear
We’re better people with trees.
We hurt less, suffer less, do less harm
We’re calmer, kinder, cooler in the shade
No need for the air conditioning
That ironically helps us heat the planet.
Safer in the shade, cut down the cancer
Grow more trees. Forest our minds
Towards better mental health.
We need nature to feel whole and well
But what we do to ourselves
Is build hell, deny what gives us life
We make our strife, unhappiness is rife
Pouring tarmac over everything, we wonder why
Our souls are hungry
For a softer way, a gentle route through our days
Walk slowly to your job, enjoy the view
Live a few minutes distance from everything
That makes a daily life for you
Amble there sweetly, saunter beneath trees.
What if we stopped telling stories
About the gadgets we hope will save us
Rescued ourselves from our mistakes
With orchards where car parks used to be
And playground groves for children
Cities where people can live peacefully.
What if we plant more trees?
(Rob Hopkins has been asking ‘What If?’ which led me to write this. More on his website https://www.robhopkins.net/ )