House On a Cliff

House On a Cliff

Indoors the tang of a tiny oil lamp. Outdoors
The winking signal on the waste of sea.
Indoors the sound of the wind, outdoors the wind.
Indoors the locked heart and the lost key.

Outdoors the chill, the void, the siren. Indoors
The strong man pained to find his red blood cools,
While the blind clock grows louder, faster. Outdoors
The silent moon, the garrulous tides she rules.

Indoors ancestral curse-cum-blessing. Outdoors
The empty bowl of heaven, the empty deep.
Indoors a purposeful man who talks at cross
Purposes, to himself, in a broken sleep.

Louis MacNeice

 

What is this drama?

"Indoors the locked heart and the lost key."

 

I seem to have lost the ability to comment.

I'm at sea. Thinking, wondering, and no words come. 

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.

 

First Steps, Brancaster

Nicholas Hely Hutchinson

First Steps, Brancaster

This is the day to leave the dark behind you
Take the adventure, step beyond the hearth,
Shake off at last the shackles that confined you,
And find the courage for the forward path.
You yearned for freedom through the long night watches,
The day has come and you are free to choose,
Now is your time and season.
Companioned still by your familiar crutches,
And leaning on the props you hope to lose,
You step outside and widen your horizon.

After the dimly burning wick of winter
That seemed to dull and darken everything
The April sun shines clear beyond your shelter
And clean as sight itself. The reed-birds sing,
As heaven reaches down to touch the earth
And circle her, revealing everywhere
A lovely, longed-for blue.
Breathe deep and be renewed by every breath,
Kinned to the keen east wind and cleansing air,
As though the blue itself were blowing through you.

You keep the coastal path where edge meets edge,
The sea and salt marsh touching in North Norfolk,
Reed cutters cuttings, patterned in the sedge,
Open and ease the way that you will walk,
Unbroken reeds still wave their feathered fronds
Through which you glimpse the long line of the sea
And hear its healing voice.
Tentative steps begin to break your bonds,
You push on through the pain that sets you free,
Towards the day when broken bones rejoice

Malcolm Guite



“This is the day.”
“The day has come.”
“Now is your time.” 

Walking into freedom, into healing, into a new season – with nature encouraging and welcoming – who wouldn’t want to respond to that invitation?! Who wouldn’t want to step outside?

Probably the best incentive to get some fresh air I’ve ever come across.