Worlds

Unknown

Worlds

Through the pale green forest of tall bracken-stalks,

Whose interwoven fronds, a jade-green sky,

Above me glimmer, infinitely high,

Towards my giant hand a beetle walks

In glistening emerald mail; and as I lie

Watching his progress through huge grassy blades

And over pebble boulders, my own world fades

And shrinks to the vision of a beetle's eye.

Within that forest world of twilight green

Ambushed with unknown perils, one endless day

I travel down the beetle-trail between

Huge glossy boles through green infinity . . .

Till flashes a glimpse of blue sea through the bracken asway,

And my world is again a tumult of windy sea.

Wilfrid Gibson

"Within that forest world of twilight green..."  This is where I say to myself - poems are spells. I could be sitting on a city bus, surrounded by traffic and noise, and all I would have to do is close my eyes and say these words - "Above the pale green forest of tall bracken-stalks..." and there I am. I've conjured a world; I’ve stepped into a separate dimension. I can do this anytime, anywhere. You can't tell me that’s not magic.