photo composition by me
I have walked in sacred places
Seen colours never seen
Awake have dreamed of mysteries
Of things that ne’r have been
In trees heard music never writ
Of chords that are unknown
In those hidden sacred spaces
Where I journey all alone
Last night my life was woven
Within that sacred knot
Of ages past, forgotten mists
Of nature’s sacred lot
As the mysteries of life unfold
A tie that has no end
Enlightened by that mystic light
Of mysteries veil to rend
On darkest moor, high stones stand
My spirit is set free
As they speak to me of ages past
Touchstones of eternity
They rise upon those mystic lands
If only we might see
That in each secret stone is hid
A gift of nature’s memory.
To stand in dreams on hill top high
To soar above on eagle’s wings
Where visions are no longer hid
And spirits soar as nature sings
Above those lesser things of life
Above its woes and care
As dreams and visions are fulfilled
As we at one with nature share.
As lightning rends the sky at night
And thunder roars in angry swell
As nature groans in agony
Its song of loss – a tale to tell
Within such wondrous beauty there
Where stars are hidden from our sight
The seeds of dawn are gently sown
To bring new beauty with dawn’s light.
To gaze into life’s deep, dark wells
As though into the deepest grave
Of shadows cold – life’s blackest seam
Where hope seems lost – no hope to save
But from within those darkest deeps
New life springs forth in sweetest span
And flows to quench the longing thirst
That dwells within the soul of man.
Or stand beside a river clear
And gaze in wonder as it flows
A myriad of crystal lights
As to its journey’s end it goes
To hear in nature’s gentle breeze
As willows sing in harmony
As nature’s healing gently flows
If only we would hear and see.
Words by © Les Cruttenden, from Insights into Meditation
How often do poems and music combine? Ever since I learned to sing “Aedh Wishes For The Cloths Of Heaven,” by William Butler Yeats it was always one of my favourite poems/songs, (listen to it here) , closely followed by Robert Frost’s “Stopping by woods on a snowy evening”.
Stopping by woods on a snowy evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sounds the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
sharing with the Daily Post
Ripple and change
paper silk ripple/
caterpillar form no more/
change is in the air
cagèd dove’s heartfelt dreaming/
soaring freedom flight
Sharing with the Weekly Photoku Challenge. The photos are mine.
on winter’s frozen landscape
Spring whisper’d melting
my first attempt at creating a photoku (a visual representation of a written haiku). This week’s haiku had to contain the words ‘whisper’ and ‘sparkle’. The images are all mine.
Sherry, of Collage Obsession, was bemoaning the fact that writing by hand seems to be a lost art so she invited us to share a creation showing handwriting.
the handwritten text in my image is part of a scan of a page from an old poetry book I found in a flea market in Belgium. Many of the pages have poems (in French) copied on to them in painstaking handwritten script. Copying such poems into books was one of the pasttimes of genteel ladies in days gone by. This entry is dated 4 October 1888. The owner of the book was a young lady called Adele and her initials are monogrammed on the cover of the book.
texture is Kim’s ‘cherished scripted’
the poem “the life that I have” was written by Leo Marks for Violet Szabo, a secret agent working for the UK. The poem contained a coded message.