 Running about the garden, with my little yellow net.
Tottering in and out of borders, wondering what life I’d met. Chasing fellow brethren, through flowers and the veg. Pulling wings off Cabbage White, avenging atrocities of the dead. Then one moment that did change, you appeared above the hedge. A power came to greet me, placing love in heart, in wedge. So vibrant in your colour, yellow, magenta, cyan, black. Shining well beyond that of mine, I could never now look back. What pleasure had you brought to me, in one mere fleeting glimpse. Little did I know then, how long before meeting hence. Three decades flew by, plus a year or two besides. Travel needed to foreign lands, different times and tides. But there again you were, in garden, bobbing through the bush. My pulse began a racing, to a beat I could hardly hush. For here you brought an energy, like which I had never felt. Throbbing up my vertebrae, my body began to melt. A tingle and a rush of blood, my head was all a swoon. Giddy with delight on seeing you, one moment not too soon. All ablaze in sunshine, of daffodil in hue. A dream to be together again, just that of me and you. But what about the purpose, connection thirty years apart. A thought I must just ponder on, not knowing where to start. And so a journey then began, of peak and then of trough. Of looking for my life and path, before spirit cried enough. A dozen dances of the wheel, had come and gone by then. Camped within Druid valley, awash with poetry and of pen. Nights spent under canvas, daytime in and out of lodge. A training in completion, no false identity to dodge. Here I was in element, to nature in just keeping. Touched so deeply by the land, tears continued on the weeping. And so it was upon the vale, where swallows kept a coming. Swooping low and fast, bringing messages of becoming. Darting here and darting there, a gilding and a sail. A flish, a flash, a loop or two, one glorious coloured tail. Whispering ever so quietly, each one they said the same. My mirror that of Swallowtail, I’d found my medicine name. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2020 If you care to comment on this poem at all please feel free to do so below.
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 There’s a freshness to this place, like which I’ve never seen.
There’s a wind, a breeze, an inkling, lifting veil of life and dream. There’s grass beneath my feet, soft, moist, like never tread. There’s an expectancy apparent, of an existence hanging by a thread. Stood tall, eyes pierced, to horizon, crystal to the view. There’s a nudge from behind me, of a presence unimaginably new. A force that continues pushing, of a creature’s mighty thrust. I look down upon his shoulders, my limbs buckling to his trust. For now I feel him in me, my legs and his are one. Calves strain, muscles, sinew, as in a moment we begin to run. At first I think I’m mounted, riding powerful, masculine beast. But then I see my hoof hit ground, will wonders never cease. My hart begins to pound, animate pulse pumps and quickens. Adrenalin, blood, spirit, coursing vein thickens. My nostrils start to flare, as we power on the charge. I and he as stag, passed bush and gorse we barge. Antler not in evidence, a steed not in his prime. Still development to be made, whether his essence or mine. Suddenly there is nervousness, a palpable, convincing fear. For what is that upon our path, no other than grizzly bear. Such a shock to see him there, immediately it is break. All senses alert and paralysed, as if bitten by a snake. My eyes wide eyed and open now, I’m back upon my bed. What more I wonder of Running Deer, my name whispered to me by the dead. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2020 If you care to comment on this poem at all please feel free to do so below.  She stands upon the shoreline, eyes peeled through breaking sea.
Windswept dunes and tide line, seaweed, pebbles and just thee. Far out beyond the horizon, stirring in the cobalt deep. There's a flicker of a tail fin, stretching sinew from slumbering heap. She's lithe and sleek, scales glistening, in shafts of moonlight shone. Answering an ancient calling, of a journey just begun. Through reef, along current, of a destination she is sure. A birthplace only known to her, individual and just pure. Inside the outstretched peninsula, a ripple of hope is barely seen. A swell of expectant bodies, ready, excited, very keen. Co-joined they are at estuary, between sand bar and the beach. Foot and gill a stride apart, just out of each others reach. A pace is taken forward, not one but three or four. Saline giving way to water, washing open homeward door. A yard or two along the riverbank, flat stone replaced by rock. There's a swishing and a splashing, a tick of body clock. Upstream there is momentum, the walk becomes a run. Pulses start a racing, breeding time has come. The salmon start a leaping, across weir and open brook. From eyes there is a seeping, of a longing for a look. A strong heart is so needed, for such a herculean jump. Around whirlpool and up waterfall, all faith in upward pump. At last upon the spawning ground, ones life can come to rest. A new generation in the birthing, all given of their best. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2020 If you care to comment on this poem at all please feel free to do so below.  There’s a strange shape at rest on the landscape.
With no clue as to friendship or foe. A huge bulk of a beast in its torso. We approach with great caution, wisely so. He’s snoring away in his slumber. His pot belly at the rise and then fall. We tip toe past this most fearsome of warthogs. Keeping quietly hidden and small. Beyond we look nervously over shoulder. To see if our progress wakes him from sleep. And so start running away to the boundary. When an abrupt snort comes from the deep. For now he’s rolled over more active. Alive at the prospect of lunch. Of a human or two on the menu. And what else could add to his brunch. He paws at the ground with his trotters. Gores down in the Earth with his tusk. Sweat pours from his brow and his midriff. A swine in his prime in full musk. He meanders his way to the fence line. A saunter becomes canter and then run. Before a stall in momentum against stake post. In his charge more sternness than fun. He sniffs hard at the air of his quarry. Stands rigid against territory wall. No hint to his thoughts or his actions. And whether flight is now needed or call. And yet there in his strength is an offer. To come closer and examine this kin. To stand tall along with his power. And share in his great presence and win. For he has not come for the fighting. Not least in the tradition of war. Instead he his here to inspire poet. To join forces with bard as wild boar. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2020 If you care to comment on this poem at all please feel free to do so below.  The forest is shrouded in quiet.
Hushed grasses stay mute in the breeze. There's no danger it seems, no riot. So why just the feeling of unease. Every hair is stood to attention. Every sense attuned to the void. No sound to offer a mention. Yet flight instincts are ready and buoyed. Every pupil is scanned to the bushes. Every hoof prepared for the race. No stripe to be seen in the rushes. But the pulse just quickens a pace. Ears twitch and strain for a murmur. For the foot fall of velvety paw. Dust cushions the imprint of grandeur. No whisper of troublesome spoor. Breath is held in the moment. A pause before imminent strike. Prey pray for salvation, atonement. To be spared the carnivorous bite. The stalk is finally over. Forgotten in one leap and a bounce. A blaze of orange breaks cover. No chance for the chosen, one pounce. Fang and claw stretch out in the capture. Primal scream unleashed in the fall. Grabbed by the throat in the rapture. The vanquished can utter no more. One gasp just left in the mortal. One chest pump from imminent doom. Darkness has surrounded life's portal. But the tiger still shines in the gloom. By Simon Blackler Copyright © Simon Blackler 2019 If you care to comment on this poem at all please feel free to do so below. |
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