no priest was summoned to the bed
to hear the final sighing
birds to the window
come at last
to one unskilled at dying
Tag: birds
eventide
uncommon prayer
bedtime story for the sick at heart
dog sigh on an unmade bed
at eventide
unquiet prayer
while children are still heard
in summer gardens
women come no more to offer comfort
or laughter
unholy prayer
full throated
now my visitor from the trees
fall away
imperceptibly
bring sleep
Follow
We walk the field
forever turning back
to pick up all the broken
bits and pieces
from this
the only ground we’ve ever known.
Fragments poking out
through churned-up clay
will fade away.
Knowing this I hear
the birds sing truly
in one great voice
they lift their throats and sing.
Leave your nets
your boats upon the shoreline
leave everything behind you
follow him.
ever
when the day comes
it comes from nowhere
even to those who wait
yes she said
a thousand times yes
but once would have been enough
to last for ever
and when the women came
they found the door open
and the room filled with light
for she had risen
and gone to the market
where they sell fresh pomegranate
gentian
gorse
parakeets in wire cages
mother tongue
the blackbird sings to me
his native thought
in that mother tongue
I knew
before I had voice to speak
in riddles
to the London trees
dwarfed between tall towers
the miraculous company of birds
contemplate the air that we breathe
this open field
the gentle rustling of leaves
and all around
then observe
the miraculous company of birds
maybe then
you will believe
there is an end to suffering
maybe then
you will believe
there is a place called everywhere
release
I open the door and release them
one by one
they come to the door and I watch them go
in pale December sun
and some of them are beautiful
and some of them are old
and some of them are ugly
some as cold as stone
and some of them are holy
[first posted Jan 3, 2016]
no picnic
that cloud
on the edge of the cliff
from the coastal path
like the head of the patriarch
only a flimsy thing
that soon blows over
leaving clear day
and little else of meaning
on the headland
where we leave eggshells
for the birds
and scatter
sorry
I meant to show you something special
ark
I sailed out
and not a sign of songbirds
I listened to the ocean
and its mournful sway
I have made an ark of my days
no graceful vessel
but a makeshift shelter
in which to stay
I have made a wreck of my day
and would be done with it
but an ark is a cathedral
by another name
listen to the songbirds
in the cold grey water
songbirds perch
on the endless wave
songbirds sing
in clear blue water
gentle waters
sing for day
a murmuration of starlings
we sang harsh songs to each other
made our strange movements in the shrill
air
at last descending to low complaint
that found no forgiveness
anywhere
I would have painted grass green for you
my heart forever
scorned
now can’t paint sky without cloud
nor put sun there to offer
warmth
hard to reconcile as evening gathers in
only a child could do that
as only a child
will
the sky grows ever crazier
in bewildering
display
a murmuration of starlings that with darkness
falls away
Another Way of Saying 