Blog post June

This month while in Argyll, my current muse stole in under cover of darkness.  Wet weather had thankfully kept me indoors reading, which was good as I'd gone there for solitude and to focus Then, on the last day, I woke with this poem, already formed and floating in my head.  

 

To Sydney Graham

There are no owls here

Only seas of hill and rain

Where cuckoos inhabit

My silent night-rhyme nest.

You lade my dreams with words

And moor them gently

At my shell-like

Before I wake

 

Listen - is it really you?

Hear - with me in this lonely abstract

Cuckoo-calling place

Where I sense your voice 

In the swish of birch-shadow

In the whisper of moth-wing

Shhh, Shhh, you say,

I am trying to be better