Thursday, March 26, 2009

Misty bridge





















(c) A McN

Early morning in York. This bridge - and the people crossing it - captivated me for about 10 mins. Then the geese captivated me more.

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Saturday, March 21, 2009

Crows dreaming

A long train journey slid from day to dusk to night
and a full moon hung in the trees like a snagged balloon.

Hunched over the laptop glow
my world spiralled down to a carriage,
a seat, a document, an email.

In the tyranny of work without end
life's flavours drained down;
colours faded; feelings fell away.

Then, coming out the station,
breathing the bigger world beyond, imagination reinflated with a sigh.
The moon was high, still caught in the cobweb laceries of tree.
It hung black crow's nests in bright silver frames.

I listened for the cough and caw of crow
but all I heard was the traffic drone
and the feather breath
of a dreaming bird
and the March air soft and
scented by the sea.

The road was a noisy tide subsiding -
interweaving lines of light
ebbing red and flowing green
as traffic trickled through the night.

High in the trees
the bird breath waxed and waned
to the lullaby wind and its tumbling tones
and the bird veins beat with a blood as old as stones.

And the dreams of the crows ran deep;
deep as the roots of the cradling trees;
deep as the earth's fond memories of dark and noiseless nights
before the roads ran sour with fumes and glare:
when only the dreams of birds and trees
troubled the evening air.

(c) A McN


I often marvel at the way life intrudes into our dullness so vividly and unexpectedly in the thinnest sliver of a moment. If I could identify the magic formula and repeat it at will I'd live more richly.

If I could bottle it I'd be rich in the other way as well!

Sunday, March 15, 2009

Night music

A slender moon with a wry smile
illuminated the dark fields with a thin milk glow.


A black dog walked beside me,
and a shadow accompanied us both.

Down the dark and hedge-frizzed track we walked in silence
to the barn where the night silences folded in on themselves under high rafters.

There in the shadow of the wall where the moonlight lapped like a high tide
I slide the silver whistle from my coat. It shone pearly white. The fingerholes were six dark planets in a row.

I lifted the instrument to my lips and breathed out the music in my head,
breaking the silence with the dance of scales and melodies,
turning breath into notes that flew like birds across the empty fields to roost in the inky outlines of the wood beyond.

When my fingers froze and I could play no more I walked
out from the shadows to the moon's white spotlight.

The stars were there in silent ranks, swarmed from horizon to horizon,
drawn from the infinite silences and loneliness of space to this one place

where a man filled the night with music
and a dog hunted rats around a barn.

(c) A Mc N