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"The Kingfisher" 

Easters
fast escape us
like every 
Christmas 
comes and goes
like a Graduation
where the parent
is excluded
and the lost 
prodigious progeny
eventually 
makes their quest
for an elusive
Holy Grail
buried under shale
or burnt ashes 
floating on air, where,
the breeze pushes back
remnants onto your face, 
into your eyes, the 
windows open, or, 
dives, following
the purple agapanthas,
submerged five fathoms below;
once was certainly 
hung and crucified, 
now, nowhere 
in existence
to be found,
yet, has always 
been by their side; 
but in their blindness
they remit flighty excuses
resurrections can wait
like reincarnations
come and go

the Kingfisher
eternally absent
its feathers 
stuck in their throat
pushes the mind 
like a hand that speaks
to write its stories
the voice imitates in song
the truth missed by some
hidden, by some, the truth 
doesn’t budge,
it is known


(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)






"Although logos is common to all, 
most people live as if 
they had a wisdom of their own." 

"The way upward 
and the way downward 
are the same." 
(Heraclitus) 


******



“Chill 
Fingers of Yew be curled  down on us? 
After the Kingfisher’s wing
has answered light to light, and is silent, 
the light is still
At the still point of the turning world”
(extract, “Burnt Norton: Four Quartets”, T.S. Eliot)



“Words move, Music moves
only in time; but that which is only living
can only die. Words, after speech, reach
into the silence. Only by the form,
by the pattern, 
can words or music reach
The stillness, as a Chinese Jar still
moves perpetual in its stillness.
Not the stillness of the violin, 
while the note lasts …” 
(extract, “Burnt Norton: Four Quartets”, T.S. Eliot)



“To look down into the drained pool. 
Dry the pool, dry concrete, brown edged, 
And the pool was filled with water out of sunlight, 
And the lotos rose, quietly, quietly, 
The surface glittered out of heart of light, 
And they were behind us, reflected in the pool. 
Then a cloud passed, and the pool was empty. 
Go, said the bird, for the leaves were full of children, 
Hidden excitedly, containing laughter. 
Go, go, go, said the bird: 
human kind cannot bear very much reality. 
Time past and time future 
What might have been 
and what has been 
Point to one end, 
which is always present.” 
(extract, “Burnt Norton: Four Quartets”, T.S. Eliot)
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