The Wild Geese
Geese appear high over us,
pass, and the sky closes. Abandon,
as in love or sleep, holds
them to their way, clear
in the ancient faith: what we need
is here. And we pray, not
for new earth or heaven, but to be
quiet in heart, and in eye,
clear. What we need is here.
by Wendell Berry
Everyday Festival Notice
the festival of street people walking
the festival of café people talking
the festival of bears, all kinds
the festival of waiting, a quieter pace
of clock watching, tick tock, leg shifting
the festival of sighs, all around
the festival of feet, of shoes
the festival of beaks and paws
the festival of wings and berries
festival of reflections, windows, water,
of horizons, chimneys, roof-life
the festival of trees, of leaves
of small blades of grass
of glints in eyes
November’s Performance Poetry at the Blue Walnut features headliner Rose Cook. Also appearing, among others, will be Chris Brooks, Joanna Hatfull and Robert Garnham – 7.30pm £4.50.
Blue Walnut Cafe
Walnut Road,
Torquay,
Devon TQ2 6HS
On The First Day Of Autumn
The air anticipates change,
sudden heavy rain, monsoon
drops big as stones,
you can follow them down.
The shift begins towards Fall,
blackbirds feed on rowan berries
cattle eat wet grass.
We feel the chill,
begin to wear coats,
clouds part to let colder
sun through, then close.
A flick of the light switch.
We find the flow, pick ripe apples,
join a lantern walk at night,
note the full moon over us,
await season’s turn.
A Walk Around Totnes:an exhibition ofphotographs by Rose Cook31st August to 29th SeptemberDaytimes, Mon-SatFree entry
The Totnes Image Bank & RuralArchive Photographic Centre,Town Mill, Tourist Information Centre
Blackbird in the Night
It still felt like night
the blackbird’s first song around four
his relaxed crooning up the garden
easing his family awake
and me too, with a whole world
full of light, open, clean, like a page
me lying in the shadowed room
the dawn bird out on the cool tree.
Meditating On Cows
There are cows filling the road.
Black and white;
faltering past with their kind faces
their ears that loop
their great slack bodies, mud splashed,
implacable as sideboards.
A face looms in the window
wet nosed, drips from one nostril.
Her eyes shine blackly, seem to see and not see.
Her shoulder bulk knocks the wing mirror.
She startles and begins to run, sliding slightly,
uncomfortable just as my mother used to be
when she ran in slippered feet down the street.
Ahead the road is still full.
Here one is more curious. She stops to lick the door
and stares a second before others hurry her on.
They slop by, silent but for their feet,
some dignity in their quiet obedience
until the last walks by, flanked by the cowman,
who, relaxed and whistling, ties up the gate.
Rose Cook
Birds, light as butterflies, circle a lone tree
black etch feather on the side of the hill.
Almost-spring air blows around almost-buds,
when I close my eyes there’s a rhythm in me,
a rock-a bye-baby breathe rhythm.
The wood pigeon pair search for scraps,
one flew with a twig just now,
in time, two white eggs will lie secret.
It is all just beginning -
the land quickens and tree clocks wake.
everything is illuminated
on the hillside
the paths
sheep have made
down the steep slope
look like
the veins of a leaf
in the frozen garden
first snowdrops shake
pale joy
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It is February and Rose will be reading at The Ariel Centre Gallery, Totnes on Saturday 12th Feb from 2pm as part of Marking The Land – photography by Michael Carter, music by Sam Richards and poetry by Weir Poets.
Also on Saturday 26th Feb at 7.30pm at the Exeter Phoenix as part of the Excite platform.
The morning begins out at sea
smeared orange and charcoal
which lightens as it opens.
Dark shapes say the birds feel it
stretch their wings to shake off sleep.
I think I hear a slow beat.
All colour returns to our world.
It hums hope
remembers nothing
dreams only of itself.
We may lose it if we slice it fine
not seeing its chances. Unafraid
of our slicing, it trusts us with its gift.
She asked: What is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
