The Ravens Go Dancing

The ravens are dancing together
as the sunlight warms the air
burning off the mists and cares
of the late autumn weather
and the ravens go dancing together

The children are walking together
and their voices fill the air
as the classroom calls them where
from their earthbound endeavours
they watch ravens go dancing together

The passengers jostle together
daily gossip twists the air
into tales of who and where
and what happened and never
notice ravens go dancing together

The loved ones all gather together
as the bells resound the air
and in hope and joy they swear
to be faithful forever
like the ravens out dancing together

The curtains are long drawn together
silent memory soaks the air
while a rasping whispered prayer
rises fragrant as heather
where the ravens are dancing together

The ravens are dancing together
weaving magic in the air
all of life below them sharing
the spell of their feathers
like the ravens we’re dancing together
life is just dancing together
the ravens are dancing

Photo by Alexandr Rusnac on Unsplash

Nov 12, 2024 0

Roots

My memory is a woodland grove of trees
who, down the years, have joined with me in prayer.
For such a long time I was unaware
Of quite how deeply my roots joined with these
Companions who, while steadfast in their place,
Have walked with me on paths of pain and grace.
There was the Hawthorn, clinging to the rocks
Where I sought shelter from the driving rain,
The fragile Birch outside the window pane
Where we would pray beneath the tower blocks,
The Chestnut, lightning scarred yet resolute,
Into my prayers these trees have taken root.
So now, as I seek stillness for my praying,
I find their rustling leaves, their branches swaying.

Oct 27, 2020 0

I Watched The Road

I sat and, for a while, I watched the road.
I watched the squirrel with the ragged tail
make her daily rounds in search of treasure.
I watched the pheasant, that fine fellow, stalking
puffed up as he crossed the pinstriped lawn.
I watched the crows, those jesters of the air,
make mockery of wind’s attempts to throw them
from almost imperceptibly fine perches.
I watched the pigeons fail to be like crows.
I watched the laden clouds drift slowly by,
looking for a better place to land.
I watched my squirrel friend leap gracefully
from ash to beech to chestnut. Then at last
I watched a car pass by. Once they were common,
their rumbling song would filter through the trees,
a flash of colour glinting in the sun.
But now, like other species under threat,
their absence leaves it’s mark on eye and ear.
And as I sat and watched, the space they left
was filled by squirrel, pheasant, cloud and crow.
I think I like this new view of the road.

Apr 2, 2020 2

Fox

I saw a fox last week. It sauntered past
The window where I sat and ate and watched –
Eyes bright, tail swinging low, a casual air
Belied the steady purpose in each stride.
Was she (or he) off hunting? Or perhaps
He (or she) was seeking out new ground,
New territory, a place to call his own
In this post-adolescent world. I do
Not know. The fox passed by and then was gone
A mere momentary glimpse, which lingered long
Impressing into memory, fleshed out
By stories half remembered, myths once heard
Not of this actual fox but of its kind.
I could not see the fox before my eyes,
Without the shadow of its reputation.
Yet this fox, in this garden, on this day
May not have been at all like foxes past.
How true that fox and human both alike
Are carried by a weight of expectation.
The burden of our past, our name, our kind,
Can cloud the way we see, the way we’re seen
Until we, fox and human both alike,
Lose that which makes me me, and makes you you.
Yet I am I and you are you and fox,
Dear fox who travelled through my gaze that day,
Is fox. And we are none of us the same.

(c) Rich Clarkson 2018

Aug 14, 2018 0

Quercus

I entered this into the Manchester Cathedral Poetry Competition (but didn’t win!)

He sits there on the edge, skin gnarled and worn,
wrapped in a wrinkled overcoat – a size
too big – to keep the wind at bay. His gaze
takes in the water as the passers by
pass by. They come and go, he does not mourn
for those no longer seen by knotted eyes.
He used to set the Autumn sky ablaze
but he cannot remember how, or why.

A crow has the temerity to land.
I watch him as he deftly shrugs it off,
displaying his contempt with an irate
harrumph as the wind picks up, blowing in
a further feathered throng, filling the land-
scape like a fall of soot and snow. They scoff,
cackle and caw, their chorus swells, abates
as his reluctant shade stifles their din.

He stands there quivering, rooted to the spot.
After all these years, unnumbered days
of keeping watch amidst the wild and bleak,
he knows his place in the grand scheme of Things.
He is content now, youth’s longings forgot-
ten, no more need for flamboyant displays
just quiet pride. Leaves rustle, branches creak
as every fibre of his being sings
his maker’s praise.

(c) Rich Clarkson 2017

Oct 16, 2017 0

Praise God for Humble Moss

Praise God for humble moss, without whom we,
Who live and breathe and leap and laugh and praise,
Could no more do such things. Praise God for days
Long past when mosses spread from sea to sea
A continental carpet breathing fresh
New life into the oxygen starved air.
Praise God for lungs which found that they could bear
To breathe this atmosphere. Praise God for flesh
Which crept and crawled and leapt and breathed and moved
Among the lichens, liverworts and ferns.
Praise God for life’s tenacity across
The ages as it gradually improved,
Evolved, developed hopes, dreams and concerns.
For all of this, praise God for humble moss.

(c) Rich Clarkson 2016

Mar 14, 2017 0

Tag: nature