Wednesday, 22 October 2014

when the weathermen get it wrong

Man traps and frames and captures and tames
But a wilderness is forever wild.

When the rain pours with hours long,
And the weathermen get it wrong.
When the rising river presents her tongue,
When the sea shows she is more strong.
I smile at nature's furious song,
And am glad when man's predictions are un-done.

The flood waters, the rippling mud,
Of what she does, you must not judge.
The wandering bolts, the un-mapped deep,
The roaming, roaring tempest,
The frothing force that never sleeps.

Eventually the wind blows you hollow,
And you are left with nothing but sorrow.

You may have conquered here and there,
Invaded, killed, and were not aware.

But now Nature speaks with full command,
Even though you hear, you do not understand.
You go on marking, breaking, fencing land,
So now you will see the wrath of Nature's hand.

- Joanna Grace

Thursday, 2 October 2014


Well, here I am back in the centre of things, that is physically.
I'm a little further out mentally or emotionally or spiritually, on the edge of things, you might say; leaning away from the curve of the pavement; beyond the racing cars with their faces steely blue, and out beyond the railway track, floating above the pollution; somewhere.
Physically I must remain I suppose.
For a time anyhow.
It will go.
Falling back in step with the striding angular shoulder blades and the clickety-clack of the step upon hard ground, but I don't really want to fall in.
I want to wander.
There are croaking bloated coughs here, eyes sore from artificial light, they do not seem to grow with the green- the evergreen.
They are stunted in their musing, in their singing and their dancing.
But here I am in the centre of things.
Things being here.
Here being things.
And around and around it goes.

but, really, I have flown away to sweeter days...