Cairn, 2019: Paper

photo by A. Hurford (2016) golden leaves on a walk home


It is not first words.
Nor any we have spoken.
But that we may, hoping . . .

* * *

I am lost in this world,
in all the worlds within
in all the words spoken
the storm they ride,
their wind.

But at any moment
may forget the whirl,
remember silent arbour,
rooted anchorage,
quite still.

Whether in clearing
on wood path
or forest full grown.

Waking to tree sense,
breeze through my leaves,
xylem flowing
transpiration free.

I hear the birds singing,
a tune to the day.
Their songs my book of hours,
months, years, nights, days.

Sound waves at sea
on the sonic sound-all.
I sway to their themes,
in the wind of my fall,
silent and knowing
there is no need for more.

Until I come to, share this,
trail golden leaves
for a few breaths spoken,
before they’re scattered,
guttered, senseless, blown.

* * *

For what am I hoping
with these, my tokens . . . 

A. H / K. H-H (17th October 2016)

This poem was published by Disability Arts Online (DAO) shortly after I wrote it. Its a favourite of mine because of how it came about and reminds me of watching the wonderful season of Tarkovsky films at Tyneside Cinema in 2016, which were such a good example and no doubt helped me get out my way to listen to what I heard. When I posted here in my early blogging I just posted the link to the DAO site and it generated very little/no interest, so this time I’ve included the poem here. If you want to read my intro to it on the DAO website you can at this link: Paper – Disability Arts Online .

The photo was taken by me on a walk home from one of the films in the same season, I think the week before, and I’d never thought before (? really?) but maybe was an influence on those leaves, that tree seemed to be exploding with light.

Toni (16th April 2019)

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