On Dartmoor

Silent moving

small rounds,

sheep keep close in the darkening rain

making their way slowly

upwards on the moor.

Grass and stone

blade and solid groove

worn loose in places

by feet and hoof

and every type of weather.

When she died

I walked and cried here,

the wildness of the weather

catching the sound

and sweeping it upwards

to the rolling wind.

Afterwards, I felt her

as a starling sang and sang

piercing light

into the grey damp.

If I Cannot Get There

Ancient and young all at once

I believed in my dreams as a child

I felt the salt of the sea on my tongue

and dived in to the taste of it

Free and clean, my dream,

deep water clear

I swam through the colours of fish, and

slithered my way through greens.

Then bent, knees to my toes, arms above me,

and push, up!

To the surface again

I left the sea floor

head shot up and out to breathe

bird-like

above the white waves.

There was bounteous air in these dreams

Out of the water, to

soar through blues and greens,

flying leaves

misty screes

Lifted up,

On my golden wings, or blue

Sky Eagle. Kingfisher.

I fly still now, to the highest most peaks, and jump off

Bouncing on clouds like lollipops

I soar over the sun and leap the points of stars

Then light-kissed by time, over to the pyramids

Where I land and slide bump

down to earth

This is only the beginning of where I can go,

If I cannot get there.