Saturday, February 25, 2006

Wildest dreams

I have no illusions about myself
but quite a few disillusions still remain.

I have tried but in the very act of trying
Have been false.
Beguiled by the tyranny of the moment,

My mind is fickle and unfaithful.
Preoccupied with the present, neither past nor future,
Friends nor enemies get the attention they deserve .

Daily I work more than I ought
Rest less than I should
Love too thinly
Care too slowly
Live too coldly.

Only now and then do I stand on tiptoe
To stretch beyond the confines of a mean and self protecting will.

But something oddly cheerful still abides;
An ancient saying resonates defiantly with truth

"Faith, hope and love remain - and the greatest of these is love"
And I am truly loved

Beyond my wildest dreams.

(c) A McN

One of the strangest truths I experience is the way a sense of my own insecurity and worthlessness can nest so closely to the deep sense of being created for a purpose and forgiven for a reason; being loved. These truths taken singly can lead to despair on the one hand or arrogant confidence on the other. Together they recall "Blessed are the poor in spirit for theirs is the kingdom of heaven".

Thursday, February 02, 2006

Saltmarsh sunset

Copyright - A McNaught

Treetalk

So we walked at night across the big winter fields
your hand small but warm in mine.

I told you all the important things I knew
like the air being colder in the bottom of the hollow
and why the mist forms there
and what this land looked like a hundred years ago
and where the valley ends.

We watched the trains running along the embankment;
glowing caterpillars dusting the dark with yellow light and electric flash,
then under the echoey bridge and out to the crest where
an east wind bit our ears with sharp teeth
and the black dog, invisible, chased scents across the field.

But it was the trees I remember most;
we stood before them as they spoke
the fluttered gutterals of winter leaf
tongued by the brittle wind.

So real were the cadences of speech,
that you were almost scared but drawing close you rode
the wave of imagination till it broke
and we spoke longingly of snow or rain
that this wild language might foretell.

The clouds were pregnant with a heavy darkness,
distant views dissolved but then reformed.
Leaf prophecies lay unfulfilled as we returned to streetlamp order,
a dog walking to lead,
and cocoa with a curl of cream
on top.

(c) A McN