This was written as I reflected on an unusual weather event during my stay last summer in Nerja Andalusia,.
Nerja - foggy afternoon
Sun's fierce heat bleaches the promenade, high above the shore:
regal balcony from which to gaze with equal eye at the sea's horizon
keenly defined against the pale backdrop of midday sky.
Midsummer passers-by find respite in the avenue of noble palm trees
enlivened by parakeet chatter and glimpses of small silent butterflies.
Their shade reconciles visions of tranquil seascape
with the festive summer bustle of El Salvador plaza,
humming with the leisure of lunchtime table talk.
Shrieking swifts swirl above like clouds of dust
their conviviality curtailed by relentless need to feed upon the wing,
flirting hastily with spaces in between the giant fronds of leaves
granting them shade and shelter too.
Much movement, sound and colour diverts the mind.
The far horizon's gradual effacement goes unheeded.
Over the sea, taller than a steeple, rolls with stealth a wave of cloud.
It suddenly plunges the plaza into autumn mist and chill,
subduing conversation, astonishing birds and sun seekers alike.
Beaches empty, shivering devotees seek refuge
in warmer welcoming boutiques and hostelries.
Before it claims stark sierras enfolding the coastal plain,
this foretaste of a season still to come,
halts and hovers uncertainly before the sun's glare
in orchards, bamboo groves and parking lots
intersecting highways, arousing apprehension in travellers,
lapping the land – just as tide caresses shore – albeit silently.
This insubstantial wave recedes as swiftly as it came,
heralded only by the return of light and shade, warmth and colour
to the promenade, with sight of sky and swirling swifts
arousing fresh anticipation of social moments al paseo.
High summer still it is, after the drama of the day.
Sunday, October 13, 2013
During an office tidy-up session, I found a sheet of paper with a few lines written this time last year during the annual Ty Mawr Associates' Day meeting. We were invited to draw or write something that reflected on being there together at Michaelgarth as a group of people pledged to accompany the Sisters of the Sacred Cross in their life of contemplative prayer and closeness to nature in their beautiful hillside location.
It was a fairly overcast day with only moments when the landscape shone in a way that is familiar to all who have visited there, in season and out of season. In the absence of blue sky and sunshine, I struggle to rise to my usual sense of appreciation of the world about me. I guess I also struggle with the absence of regular attachment and belonging to a close-knit everyday discipleship community now that I serve as an itinerant locum pastor. So, these few lines are a muted echo of this experience, as much as they are a weather report.
Autumnal day at Ty Mawr
a random tapestry-
filaments of white and grey
Sombre does no justice
to the mood
when heaven's glory is concealed
Not in the cloud, but
is where we wait
consoled by fleeting sunbeams.
J.K.K. - 20.10.12
Wednesday, October 09, 2013
I find solace and hope in the world as sacrament, yet it's often in darkness or in harsh places that I am brought vigorously to my senses and caused to wonder. He's a collection of finds from the unidentified files of my archive, from the years when I travelled Wales, working for the United Society for the Propagation of the Gospel.
In the hour before the night
to a pale grey dawn,
a lone bird's song sweetens
the chill dank air.
It enters that nether world
where dreams and waking thoughts mingle -
where the doubts of day begin
to take their shape -
and rings a carillon of hope
in times uncertain.
"As sure as I am herald of the morn
here on this bare bough
through seasons harsh and fair
to welcome the return of light,
love will prevail.
And even in defeat and darkness
will not ultimately fail."
J.K.K. - 5.1.87
Spring at Ty Mawr
The song of the bird
The soaring wind
The rustle of unfolding leaves
The dash and sparkle of bright brook
The stillness of dew decked blossom
"Who will accompany us in homage
to the source of our wonder?"
As shadows shrink
in quiet meadows,
the dawn Angelus declares
the stirring of an answer.
Years of walking in darkness,
no moon or star to guide the way:
easily deceived by occasional glimmer;
progress too often a daunting deception;
existence, a hoping against all hope:
secured from oblivion by nothing more
than a promise,
the distant echo of a voice
And then, without warning
to stumble into the light!
Senses amazed and agonised
in their release
overwhelmed with confusion
as the shadows flee
and the Word is once more confirmed
"He who calls you is faithful, and will do it."
J.K.K. - 18.12.89
Gaunt winter trees
roar at the chafing wind.
Empty fields etched by
stone walls in sparse grass
await the return
of long gone husbandmen.
Centuries seem to slip away
There is day and night
Only the river seems to know
its purpose -
and the grey houses
that are bastions of warmth
J.K.K. - 1.11.90
Annecy, late August 1992
We awaken to the first chill of autumn
to the sound of rain and complaint of thunder,
gathering clouds obscuring distant peaks.
We rise reluctantly and shivering;
first light to sunrise is a long vigil.
Single scorched leaves flutter gently earthward
among the glistening droplets: parched earth and
forest offer oblations of white mist,
reducing mountains to dark veiled shadows.
Morning arrives, then feigns to leave again.
J.K.K. - revised 12.8.95
Thursday, October 03, 2013
I woke up early, thinking about the few poems I'd written, even fewer in recent years, and then began to wonder if I'd posted anything here since I retired three and a half years ago. So I got up and checked, and as a result here's the handful I've written since then, sitting in my study overlooking the gardens of neighbouring houses. The only thing lacking in my quiet corner is a landscape to view.
I don't know if it's linked, but I have occupied myself with taking photographs in my travels, mostly landscape, and journalling my life in retirement instead http://westofthecentre.blogspot.com Here are three poems written in Advent 2011 and one in Holy Week 2012
Cloud unbroken lies heavy
beneath the nearest hilltop
draining colour from bricks
and tiles – red or darkest blue
reducing our horizon
to the work of human hands
as far as the eye can see.
The sun visits without
casting shadows to bless us
with perspective or movement
even rain is reluctant to fall
wind to blow refreshment upon us.
Time, it seems, stands still.
Days like this call for endurance
a search for the light within.
Waiting, waiting, what do we wait for under leaden skies?
Rain and wind whipped darkness encroaching, moon hiding,
street lamps struggling against shadow
that blots out landscape, melts horizons,
leaving us empty, shivering and cold.
Time to turn inward
To that other darkness
where unknowing dwells
present beyond forgetting,
detected by longing
for the invisible radiance of love
that lights the soul and warms the spirit.
The One who comes
is already nearer to us
Than we are to ourselves –
but dare we look?
There is no hiding from the sun
beneath the cold-clear sky
in these fleeting days of waiting
whenever cloud takes leave of absence.
It skirts the horizon of hills and housetops
transfixing our earthly gaze
halting us with intimations
of glory we cannot comprehend.
In such moments when we cannot see our way
we are arrested, not by darkness
but blinded by the very substance
of which matter is made -
pointing beyond itself
wherever unknowing may be
darkness and light are both alike to thee.
JKK, O Sapientia 2011
HOLY WEEK – MONDAY 2012
A Spring moon starts to blossom in cloudy skies.
With each expectant night draws near again
the day-light of redemption's song
while crowds unheeding find distraction
and take comfort in fleeting leisure.
In the chaos of so much forgetting,
of lessons unlearned or refused,
our commonality crumbles into fragments
experience, a jumble of sensations.
Anxiety reigns, confusion and despair
stain the fabric of so many lives.
Yet life giving protest persists, resists.
People of the Covenants – old and new -
prepare to remember who they are
and what they were made to become.
Such a hard learning to keep in mind -
looking beyond to understand
the painful meaning that heals and frees,
makes all things new and crowns with wholeness
those who dare the darkness trusting
and refuse to let it swallow them.