15Dec/071
Poem: Forgetting How To Fly
A poem for Christmas.
Forgetting How To Fly
Christmas and the smell of
haybales on the plains
and looking up at a sky
black and full of dust
through a tin-shed window
and bright in that star river
the Cross, a kite
for hanging dreams on.
It's been some years, now,
under white fluorescents
and I'm missing something
I've forgotten how to name
that space inside, to fly:
I need a holiday from me.
December 25th, 2007 - 09:04
DAWN: The immortal spirit hath no bars to circumscribe its dwelling place; my soul hath pastured with the stars upon the meadow-lands of space…My mind and ear at times have caught, from realms beyond our mortal reach, the utterance of Eternal Thought, of which all nature is the speech… And high above the seas and lands, on peaks just tipped with morning light, my dauntless spirit mutely stands with eagle wings outspread for flight.