Tag Archive | poem

elixir, a poem


deep in the sacred centre of my genesis
the root of my craeb the fountain of my spirit
the loud-crying stone of my validation
the spark of my flame’s ignition
there are my many destinies, infinite and eternal like seeds

sometimes I feel I could reach
through the marbled liquid layers of my years
to the first cry of my life
the first beat of my foetal heart,
the wild radiant moment of the fusion of gametes
the weaving of worlds in the twist of their nwyfre

and in the palm of my hand,
cherish, cradle and nurture the seed,
sheltering the incubation of my own genesis
in the union of the many sainted angels
whose lives have spun the fibres of my being.

when I feel around the pain and the joy of my life
the cradling palm, perhaps the sweet elixir
that entrances me anew to life’s enchantment
drips after all from the full voluptuous fruits
of a ripe and radiant destiny yet to be conceived

and still I follow its gleam, rapt in a ray of in hope.

turtles all the way – er – in.



i’ve listened to the scientists and this is my reply;

respectfully i must advise, we don’t see eye to eye.

my animistic atoms making predetermined shapes,

mechanically intending everything from stars to apes,

just flout the simple sanity of your established science

and seem to treat the ‘evidence’ with cavalier defiance.


you say that planet earth is really not a living being;

it doesn’t grow or reproduce – going by what you’re seeing.

but eggs and pupae, they don’t grow, nor do they reproduce

and who knows what this earth will do when we’re no further use?

it goes beyond the evidence to say: ‘it is alive’,

but just as much to say: ‘it’s not’, however you contrive.


astronomers with bated breath observe that stars evolve.

they explicate the physics in equations that they solve.

the time-scale is enormous, so we shouldn’t judge too soon –

it won’t be long before our genes ‘inseminate’ the moon!

we don’t know how the planets form – we’ve only made a guess

but why assume that they are lacking sexual prowess?


some scientists talk of termite mounds, made by, but not, biota

suggesting earth’s inanimate: i’m not fazed one iota.

our bones are inorganic things, secreted by our cells,

just like a beetle’s carapace, or nautiluses’ shells.

our sial, like a carapace, protects the inner flows

that roil so metabolically; and life upon it grows!



another speaks of darwin, in defence of whom she says

all creatures are accounted for, all qualities and traits.

that gives me pause until i see that yes! she’s partly right –

continuum from go to whoa – a brilliant, brave insight!

if sentimental purpose crafts the atoms in a star

why not what’s in big bangs themselves? that isn’t so bizarre!


my viewpoint’s still post-modern (not yet moved to what comes next)

but I still maintain that matter should be seen in terms of ‘text’

with networks just like world-wide-webs jam-packed with brawling memes

(or, since my term’s more general, perhaps we’ll call them  ‘emes’,

a healthy little suffix that can serve us as a word)

a ‘textrichness’, articulate? that isn’t so absurd.


genes craft all traits of plants and beasts and do so from within.

but processes are just as smart within an atom’s skin.

so each big bang, when first it starts to outwardly explode

is explicating latent text according to a code.

and now that’s said, it looks to me so simple and so plain –

i s’pose it does to you, too, so i’ve no need to explain.


to sum up, with a metaphor: a gene is hawking’s turtle

sustained by inner turtles (now, look deep – try not to hurtle

precipitately inward) with each subatomic one

sustained by other inner ones, and when all’s said and done

this turtle soup inside a gene can ‘quark’ ad infinitum.

it’s turtles, going in not down! come on! they’re there! why fight ’em?

australia: consecration of the land – a poem

they came in fleets of sailing ships,

some free, but most in chains.

they built their towns and cleared their fields

upon these fertile plains.


and they explored on foot, on horse,

on camel, and by sea,

and found the land already home

to people proud and free.


a people with an ancient law

as old as stars above. . .

with trepidation now they watched

these men devoid of love.


they saw the shackled convict slaves

flogged half to death and worse.

they heard their howls of agony,

they heard the tyrants’ curse.


and in their time they too succumbed

defeated by the gun –

their spears could not defend them so

they had too turn and run.


the trees and mountains saw it all,

the wild bush creatures too,

koala, emu, terrapin,

snake, crow and kangaroo.


and as the land had always done

it held its magic rites,

communing with the dreamtime stars

through all the fear-filled nights.


they gathered like a zodiac

round sacred uluru,

and talked and planned and danced and sang

and made strong magic, too.


they clapped and chanted for their laws

of gentleness and peace

to put an end to slavery

and give the slaves release.


they brought down law on all of us

its spirit true and strong

for justice and equality,

cruel slavery is wrong!


for in this deep and timeless land

of landscapes harsh and wild

there is a sacred promise made

to every newborn child


for every child’s a universe

ablaze with living stars,

within this law of sacredness

we’re all great avatars.


we humans need good lives, safe homes,

our children cared for too,

health, freedom, power, a voice for all,

not only for the few.


the beasts are many and the plants

are cosmic dreamings, yes,

our planet lives and feels her lands

reacting to the stress


this law comes down upon us all,

unspoken, yet well-known –

this star-blessed earth must cherished be

it isn’t just our own.

the people of the earth

in the chaos of deep space

we were dust

in the young oceans of the earth

we were fish

in ancient forest trees, as apes

we flew like birds

and then:

together in the firelight

to the beat of shaman drums

and the lilt of spell-binding flutes

we were becoming

the peoples of the earth.

 we learnt to hunt

and thus intertwined our lives

with the lives of wild beasts

 we learnt to build

and we are the temple stones

the trustworthy bridge

 we learnt to weave

and we are the woven threads,

the fabric firm and good.

we learned to farm

and we are the ripening grain

and the healing herbs

we learned to sail

and we are the unknown lands,

the wandering tides.

we learned to fight

and we are the battles the wars

and the peace process.

we learned to love

and we are the awesome power of love

 and the gentleness.

no two alike, so myriad,

long ages peopled with bright spirits

animating matter from within.

 like the rays of the sun

we began as one

containing within us

the essence of all.

we bred and diversified – behold the bright rainbow

from jet black to pure white

and all colours in between

the red and the brown and the golden

 from dwarves to giants

we are all shapes and sizes

and in all the visible and invisible worlds

past present and future

we are myriad

and yet still one species


broad is the rainbow

displaying all colours and kinds

we are the peoples of the earth,

blending with the myriad species

in the rainbow of the manifestation of life.

let no harm come to us

let no harm come through us.

may the lovingness of life nurture us

may the truth shine bright within us

and may we find noble destinies worthy of us all.

wild as druids

and wild as druids, we live

close to our noble natures,

taking easily our instruction

from mother-mind,

whether through birds’ beaks

and elves’ mouths,

and incidental ogham in the brittle sticks

and prickles of the thorn,

or through well-worn domesday tomes,

gnomes traditions,

paleolithic spells,

and the wisdom of the well,

or through high flying on swift winds

of wonder and amazement

in the sky cathedral

of the many minds

to hear the majestic choirs of

gaia’s cerebral mind

in meditation and in ritual

and in flight,

wild we live as druids

close to our tribal natures,

talking easily our inner vision

in town and forest still.

on being a tree

day has dawned

i am drawing again light from the pallouring sky
having drunk all night its darkness and the aeons-long light of stars.
the moon’s milk is in my veins.

o sun, our star, i am breathing your flowing fire,
i am kindling my morning fires,
your flames begin to glow in all the industrious atoms of my leaves.

the air is sweetened and the earth and sky and i we mingle our breaths
i am breathed through with life.

from the sky and the earth i draw water
in water all songs lunar are sung and celestial vistas flash
of those in their spinning of wisdoms i am made mindful.

i am also a fountain, yes, of living waters
in me is an ocean
and the sky is alive with my waters also.

no thing lives that has not drunk of me.

i nudge my mouthing root into the mother mud.
from crystals, stone and earth she brews for me by miracles
my nourishment of molecules and minerals and metals
which were forged in stars, and i am full of stars.

i am made equally of quiet yet shining fire
fanned by the breath of the brightening sky
the jewels of life are a-blaze in my slow, in my cool, green flame.

amid the climbing water of my fountain
in my sky full of celestial water
in my clamouring atoms
in my billion-crucibled leaves
in the push of my sugared sap
in the quickening and slowing of my seed-mothering flower and
in the more than muscular swell of my branch and root

all things transmute
in me
all things transmute

the pilgrim’s protest

the pilgrim’s progress was won (one

remembers, in spite of a bunyan)

on foot painfully, for the fact is

that shoes hurt and really in practice

discarding them tends to expose

too-tender soles.  only those

soles long-accustomed to rock

are immune to the alternate shock

of steps.  if the pilgrim had cried

resting wearily by the roadside

he’d have witnessed the green war rage

between wayside wheat and the sage

through a tear’s lens and been moved,

being stilled, and christ proved.


i heard a gong make the air throng with song upon song:

song making song meeting song eating song, beating song,

song welling in swelling in yelling in telling of

a dragon blazing, benign, amazing!


the dragon paused and her wild line

of spark enclosed a dark flame-shine

and she scathingly said with never a word

that never gong’s song was ever so heard

yelling or spelling or telling the young

spark upon dark of the ancient rare

crackle and glitter of reactive air

which from stillness and silence is wrung.


and a young saint on a serious horse

reined to a stop and he ventured, “of course,

if one could fathom the infernal mystery

(perhaps by perusing the math, myth and history

of dragons, and learning the physics of sound

through permutant force-forms, a way could be found

to bash the living dragons out of gongs.

but as you can see by the cross on my shield

dragons and i have on many a field

flowered the grass in the fire-footed dance

and mostly i’ve just run ‘em through with my lance.

(the flowering of fields from the spittle and sweat

and the blood and the sparks as they fall tender yet

occasional harmonic songs.)”


so i sat in the tangle of weeds by the road

and took out my lunch from my too-heavy load

and through a tear’s lens with a clear-sighted glance

i watched wheat and sage in a fire-footed dance

sowing dandelion, vetch and sea-onion;


flowers of the rue; and of the thorn

blood-drop berries of gong-song born,

and i cried, less from grief than the fact that i needed

the tear.  so i watched, with my sandwich unheeded,

and ruefully massaged my bunion.