of the seven deadly sins, the eighth and worst by far is emotional blackmail ... the diligent practise of this subtle and ancient art creates a constantly evolving darwinistic moral vacuum in which the brightest new manipulative ideas and stratagems flourish ... and which only you, or i, can fill !
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
chanctonbury ring hill above lower chancton farm near washington, sussex
Your comment came as a surprise verging on shock, it is strange how people's lives & thought intersect in such ways ... because i was once momentarily concerned about what might happen to my ashes, and formed this unfinished poem
F I R S T W I L L & T E S T A M E N T
Burn this old body now sweet life has gone, But wait until the harvest moon comes round Before you cast my ashes high upon The weather beaten carpet of the downs.
Here, tired of juggling Death & Birth, & resting from Creation’s Dance, The Goddess Earth’s stone fingers play Cat’s Cradle with our nights and days.
Dearly beloved of the strong & tender dead, While seasons’ shadows slide around her sleeping curves, And captive constellations flame & slowly turn, Attentive to her enigmatic metronome,
Abide with me sometimes among these stones my dear, If you would understand what used to be my pain. Lay close to Mother Earth, my love, that you may hear The grasses sighing for the Wind and Rain ...
... I am no longer I, No longer wait in vain To hear your raucous laugh And stroke those dancing feet again.
3 comments:
1996, my sister and I clambered up the steepest side to leave our mum's ashes up there - they'll have blown away by now!
Your comment came as a surprise verging on shock, it is strange how people's lives & thought intersect in such ways ... because i was once momentarily concerned about what might happen to my ashes, and formed this unfinished poem
F I R S T W I L L & T E S T A M E N T
Burn this old body now sweet life has gone,
But wait until the harvest moon comes round
Before you cast my ashes high upon
The weather beaten carpet of the downs.
Here, tired of juggling Death & Birth,
& resting from Creation’s Dance,
The Goddess Earth’s stone fingers play
Cat’s Cradle with our nights and days.
Dearly beloved of the strong & tender dead,
While seasons’ shadows slide around her sleeping curves,
And captive constellations flame & slowly turn,
Attentive to her enigmatic metronome,
Abide with me sometimes among these stones my dear,
If you would understand what used to be my pain.
Lay close to Mother Earth, my love, that you may hear
The grasses sighing for the Wind and Rain ...
... I am no longer I,
No longer wait in vain
To hear your raucous laugh
And stroke those dancing feet again.
Tristan, this is beautiful and moving to tears.
I'll keep it if I may.
Post a Comment