Sunday, 7 November 2010
31. Al-Kabir - Seed Potential
Suggests awareness, knowing, small, growth --- 'With every breath,
I plant the seeds of devotion. I am a farmer of the heart' ~ Rumi
Trees are hunkered in the lane,
still, like stalking owls today;
winter dropped their old display,
now they hunch and crouch again.
But stony statues aren’t asleep,
working harder than the spring,
working up their flagrant song;
fiery cores transforming, deep.
An Eden Conception
A raindrop, unaccountably round,
plunges into Mallerstang;
Eden valley, Victorian dark,
the last great wilderness in England.
People come here briefly;
a monarch, a highwayman,
a thief, an earl, a tramp to see
rivers rise – the Ouse and Eden -
and if this raindrop falls an atom’s width
to the East, it runs to York;
a molecule West, Carlisle.
On and on, the future forks
and this drop will not travel both.
Race into a great valley;
ginger gorse: an undomesticated,
wild, wet second world, happy
when earth and wind decide
what’s right and left, that it’s worth
a surging newborn driving to
a source, a smash, a violent birth.
He likes to rabbit on, old Tony, giving all
and sundry gobfuls, earfuls, chatter
box, old Tony can’t half natter, talks
for England, verbal diarrhea.
Does it matter that he throws his words
out willy-nilly? Aren’t they just like seeds
or skimming stones or pips or dandelion clocks,
hoping one might stick like chucking pasta at a roof?
And Sigmund Freud, he knew
that smaller words will hold you;
id or ego,
if but try or is how no
just now so