In my last post, I shared a photograph I took in the summer and threw out a fishing line - the question being, if this was an illustration in a poetry anthology what sort of poem would it be married with? "Mountain Thyme" (pictured right) left me this comment:- "I see a long poem in which one learns that being true to oneself, never compromising your beliefs, "running against the wind," so to speak is not all bad. One might be lonely at times, but one will grow strong and healthy and beautiful with roots firmly planted in the ground."
She was lighting the blue touchpaper of my poetry and this is what has, rather mysteriously, emerged:-
No man is an island
But I have been an island
Salt waves crashing on my shore
Knuckles rapping at my door.
I counted the bells of midnight
With pauses between each one
And fought with hope and memory
Before the dark was gone.
And in dawn's seeping light,
I turned to face my wall
Sure that when we leave this life
There's nothing there at all.
Clouds of starlings on the wing
Like shoals of tiny fish beside a reef
I heard a distant blackbird sing
And sensed the molten core beneath
Like hope, like memory.
To run with the wind
To be gone with it
So many flew like kites
Their lines lost
Up and down on
You see such beings
I anchored myself to the earth
Held on tight for all I was worth
Felt the ebb and watched the flow
For isn't this how life must go?
I looked in the mirror
And saw my face
Entrant in the human race.