Nature calls. She calls wild. Her energy was strong and running through me as I walked the fields back home this afternoon. She is changing. I am changing. The breeze picked up into the wind. The fragrance of the freshly cut conifer filled the air as the rain began to beat against the leaves and needles. I stood under the cover of overgrown vines and watched the pour heave and move the skies sideways. I breathed, I coyly smiled. I felt wild inside. Felt the heave of my chest. Tilted my head as I looked to the distant pine trees where my friend of late, the buzzard, called. My eyes scanned the branches as my lungs filled. The coyness dissipated. I responded with a howl. The buzzard called again and left the branches for me to see it in flight. Louder and louder I roared. It glided the skies, called and called and called. I jumped, opened my chest and roared time and time again. Nature is wild today. I am wild. Nature calls. She shouts. She hollers. We must listen, open our doors and answer.
The birds, the light the fresh rainfall has so much to say. The sunshine of last week took me to a reservoir where I washed and bathed in the warmth of dusk. Felt the current I created with my arms and legs rush and run across my naked flesh. Kiss and caress me. I watched swallows drop and dive for gnats and damselflies as my chest and belly skimmed the surface. Witnessed fish jump up for their own dinner finds as algae wrapped my legs. Can I live like this always? Be one within one within one within all.
This little trek takes me along and through disused fields. Some barriered, high fenced and untouched for over a year. By humans that is. Last week I opened the tall gate, skipped, ran and sang through them as the lowering sun broke its light through the pine branches and tipped the graze. I wandered, I pondered, I cheekily smiled and I returned to the gate saying farewell to the rabbits and neatly closed the field away, tucking the wild flowers back into place. Such true, innocent fun. Pure, simple. The way I love to live. The way to live.
I returned on times to watch the moon rise and light paths across the lake. Spoke with the horses and crickets. Let my eyes wander the clovers for four leaves as long grasses tickled my calves, thighs and open palms. I teased away the grains for the dry summer fragrance to be gained. Oh gosh, writing this has these moments return to my centre and heart; and rise. A full chapter life imparts.
The path continues along another avenue of pine trees dropping cones to dry. Ready for me to collect for my winter fires feed. Into my bag they go as I gather the feathers of ravens and wood pigeons and rise my head to the buzzards call. Smile I do. Thank you I say. It has become use to me coming this way. I return its call with my own wail. It calls again. Soars and glides overhead. I raise my own wings and howl. Nature calls. Nature pleads for me to respond. I feel my belly and lungs rise and fall. Shoulders and eyes back. I howl once more, twice, three times, four. This is life's track. May I remain in my ever changing ways. Moving with the seasons who have the say.
Bind and offer feathers, needles and cones
Underneath the buzzards dusk call
To be taken to the medicine home
Where truths come to the door
Slides are clipped and pulled
As the past does rise and fall
Moments lured and lulled
Fear and doubt to be saged
Clearing the canvas’ age
Fire breathes through the smoke
Igniting the spirits cloak
Pulling earth up through its spine
To elucidate in its eye
The energy that patiently lays and waits.
For this awakening; pray.
As I rose with dawn in dreams of maps I recalled last nights dusk. Where colours and air wrapped my breath and combined with this morn. Took my hands to a pen and had me create.
Todays freshly written piece asks to be shared before those put upon paper over the last week. The lives that pass in the moments of night and day, dusk and dawn.
Last night I bathed in the serene calm of dusk
Watched three foxes inhale the scent of their banquet trails
As I leant into the dew dropped stone wall
Felt the flight of bats against my cheeks
Equations become whole
In that moment seeked
I woke to the mist of morn
Walked the stone steps
Came to the remains of another ones hunt
A mouse caught and skinned
Abandoned in the grasses
Having me ponder
A moment again
I stood and marveled in awe
What do I do with this little ones flesh
Leaves by its side called
As did the feathers fall
Along with last night's rose
Tucked inside my home
Beside the penny of luck found
And for this one lost
I am to carry this freshly taken life
To new ground where it shall decay
In dignity and peace
Below the Hawthorn tree
New buds for it to be and see
Where each day for now I will glance
As I am taken into another moments trance
Eyes upon a stand
Watching rabbits return to the fields grasses
Emptied of the night's rich furs and hunters teeth
They are not todays carcass
As I pour my cup of tea
Into a moment of stirred leaves
For an early knock to come to my door
A return of thanks
To flowers I left at theirs the night before
Into another place I fall
Enraptured in a moments call
This vision, my vision, is back good and strong. An aspect I have been aware of since neurosurgery. My glasses are void. My eyes have less pressure, less strain, less fuzz, more sight. Last week, six weeks on from the op, it was confirmed by the eye clinic.
I as ever am probably one of the most excited persons they have had arrive and leave. Practically singing the bottom line of letters and told how I read them better this time. Yay! I return to the waiting area and await the next stage of optic checks. Interact with fellow patients when it is possible in these current days of restrictions with masked, hidden faces. I look at the walls that hold scenes of the tropics and U.S. beaches. I consider the best way to get to one - the gorgeous West coast of Cornwall, home - as I am called for the optic nerve check. I give the doctor an update on my health as she brings the camera in front, scans both eyes, examines them and responds with a smile. 'They're looking perfectly healthy and pink. While you're here we'll inspect your field of vision and compare it to the test you had a few weeks before surgery."
To another location and seat I go. Wait with eagerness for a good little while - toe tapping, people scanning, sign reading - and then get called in. My chin goes upon a rest as I look into a dome. It is time for me to press a button as I spot the lights that come up, play dot to dot. Press quick, press hard, press eager, press excited. I can see. I can see more than before... A few minutes later I am back along the corridor and with the doctor who brings the results up on screen. She confirms this. Here is the evidence. Here is the proof. Here is a dream in its truth. I can see and oh gosh I smile and skip and wave my arms right now, here in this moment. Celebrate. Evidence with the truth.
My imagination and visions with eyes closed or open are on a wild. I play with shadows. Let sounds guide me to places and scenes. Follow colour trails from fingertips to trees. I play, play, play. The child and woman I am take hand and dance. Laugh wildly, purr stories and live every moment they are in; true. Words once whispered into my ears as a young teen return to me, "Be true to yourself." Gosh, it can take a lot to do such. Yet such enhances life with no measure.
Two days after the eye clinic I meandered by foot and bus to the swimming pool. Silver feather earrings tickle at my neck. Ones I wear for this travel so the child in me can listen to them play song in the waters. So the woman I am can hear what they have to say and write. I close and open my eyes in the pool for scenes to come and bring giggles, tickle at my ears, be the guide for this scene of life.
I dip into waters and swim beneath through blue light. Listen to the dream catchers rattle with the drummers beat. Coaxing me to chant and sing through the currents, ripples and waves. For my voice to rise through the grasses, take to the skies. Feel the tickle and hum of fish as the toad croaks and bellows his chest. See light change to that of dusk where whispers become the word of the settling sun. And those of the moon dance the pools of the nights opera. I rest and play in this life's skin. For I am the conductor of my core. True.
A week on, today, I am typing away as I buzz away. I share my absolute happiness with you. Although I do have my tired days. Two days ago I wept, flooded tears, with the touch of fresh air upon my cheeks unable to control my active mind which brought forth insecurities. With the wise words, love and touch of friends, walks in the fields, rest in long grasses, a wash in the reservoir, gentle yoga, settling meditation and the therapy of music I returned and let the fears go. Yesterday I rose grounded from good sleep and dreams leading into a day filled with the bliss of bringing smiles to the faces of others, illuminating mine. Today begins with fresh eyes, heart and lines. Today I share it all with you. Love.
P.S. The young blackbird I wrote about two weeks ago is back. She returned yesterday. Her right wing still looking a little ruffled. We sat next to one another in the garden. She came to my door while I busied inside. She munched away at seeds on the table while I ate mine. She made me smile with absolute delight. Gosh, she is back and sees me as a friend. To see her life in fruition reminds me of those I have seen lost on my recent walks. Those of birds and rabbits at different stages of birth, life, death, remains and decay. It is humbling. Here are this mornings words.
Piercing hole of life and death
Opened through beak, claws and teeth
Fur, feathers, skin and flesh
Chain of nature’s talk
Holding land walked
Of stone and grass
Streets and fields
Paved and open
Living day and night
Dawn and dusk
Teaching the fight of fear and fright
One's survivals must
Another's turn as dust
Piercing eyes of sky and ground beneath
Competing to catch and fly
Run the fastest in mortals law
Survive this day whole creatured
Or be the sustenance of beseeched
Royally plucked of feathers and fur
Pica Pica. Latin for magpie. My favourite bird as a child. The trees opposite the garden I grew up in were full of them, their nests and their antics for all that glimmers in their eye. I still adore watching them and listening to their strong caw. Until yesterday that is.
My morning began alongside the gardens sound drifts. The gorgeous song of the blackbirds whom I talk and whistle with. Who often come near to my side. Dance the steps next to me. Feed on the seeds I leave. Watch me just as I watch them. Chitter chatter, chitter chatter. I listened for a wee while, smiled and started the mornings routine. Yoga. I sat upon the mat, bringing softness to the wooden floor, and suddenly, oh so abruptly, the morning bird call turned into high peak screeches. I was straight back up to my feet and rushed to the door. There I was loud, before the scene and thoughts could be processed, with my own bellowing call to break the attack and scare the magpie away. It was striking at a young blackbird. With my shout echoing through its feathers the magpies direction changed. Its wings whipping with sound as it moved up, out and over the ivy coated out building. I returned my eyes to the battle scene and watched ma and pa settle. Ma to a branch of the hawthorn above the spot where the strike occurred and the youngster was left. Pa to the table to the left, watching earnestly. I looked to the long grasses (I'm too busy enjoying buttercups and daisies to cut them) and there was their young little one. Tears filled my eyes as I flurried ideas. What do I do? I stood my ground for the magpies to know I was still there as they sat upon distant trees. They have played their Pica Pica role too well. They are not welcome today.
Ma and pa remained in their places as I slowly moved towards the little one. Just enough so I could see and not touch. It's right wing splayed. So vulnerable and without movement. Had it survived? Another moment I waited. Another moment I listened to my heart. Another moment I took a breath to my belly. I must check if there is anything I can do. Prevent its weakness, another attack. I got closer yet with distance so I could see yet not cause panic. The little one wiggled, it moved. It was still alive. It maneuvered some more and returned its wing to its side. As I knelt still unsure what to do as ma and pa watched, as the little one opened its beak wide, called for food. I sat and waited. Sat and protected it from another breeds feed. A few more minutes passed. Energy returned its way as shock settled and it wiggled deep into longer grasses and nestled. Ma and pa flew in front of me. Telling me to go. So I did. Inside I retreated and kept the door open in case the magpie dared return. The fresh seeds I had put upon the table first thing now fed pa. He collected, I spoke. "Hope all will be fine, that I have done you right." I cried. I watched. I waited. I had breakfast. I dressed and hoped for the little one's best. It was time for me to leave. Wish for the little one to leave free before I return home at the end of this day.
Here is the piece created:
A babe no longer cradled in the wings of another
Father and mother
Feeders and nurturers
Teachers and guiders
Leaders to the world beyond the cradling nest
Where it learnt to open eyes and beak
Grow feathers for it to find the unseen, seek
Seek nourishment from the ground around
Of scenes unbound
Through green wings of travel
As risks are advanced from every creature
Where mother and father no longer trace its moves
Eyes and beak must go beyond speech
For nourishment to be seeked
Serve self protection
Outside the nest, branch and tree
Surpass fear of a journey’s possibilities
Virgin memories laid, unscathed
Reminiscence of the nestled egg
As a babe no longer cradled in the wings of another
I returned home to darkness. Only the light of a torch to lead the way. The little one gone. Please let it be through its own strength and choice.
Today began with their beautiful song. My moment to ground. I have only seen pa so far as the magpies return. Please let all be well.
Epiphany (dictionary: a moment of sudden and great revelation). The word used by the occupational therapist I spoke with a few days ago to describe the transformation I have had in this life since neurosurgery. I am overwhelmed. Beautifully overwhelmed with pure settlement in the being I am.
I have been pouring words on to paper everyday and have stacks of creative ideas building up as pieces I started are pulled out for development and completion (discover more through Instagram - bethan_in_laurels). Childhood and teenage memories and life experiences are spilling back into my expanding mind, heart and soul, my life. I am dancing with legs and arms in full swing. I am singing with a voice loud. I wail with tears and roar with laughter. I am amongst the plants hearing their voice. I am me as a toddler, a young girl, a woman now. It is proving to be an insurmountable experience. I have been humbled, enlightened and stimulated through the reconnection and communication of my heightened senses.
A phrase I never thought I would use. Especially towards myself...I feel blessed.
Nature. My love. Is by my side. Has been since I was a child. Although I lost her for a while. In recent years she has become my companion again and I see her as an intrinsic part of all beings. She has so much to teach us if we choose to listen. This poem, created in the past few days, I dedicate to nature and all you beings. We are part of her. Together.
Are there many roots to the tree or one source?
A bed, a man, a river or another force
Sending the call for her to climb the trunk
Stretch across branches and grasp the top fall
Where shoes of travel hide
As another watched
With the remembrance pickers bid
In the shadows of the forest of her heart
Away from the line of light
Protection with the dark
Only she knew these trails
Each holding a memory passed
Stirred by the lungs breeze
Longing to scatter their leaves
They knew amongst them was a key
To open her soul and breathe
They gently chanted
‘Breathe little one, breathe
You have light and colour to use and see
Breathe little one, breathe
You have visions to believe’
She cradled her hand against her winged belly
Wanting to once again fly
Learn how to weep and bring her sight
‘Breathe little one, breathe’
Maybe tonight can be the night
For her to once again perceive
Through the lashes teased
Diverted by light and fearing fright
Trailing the cheekbones height
‘Breathe little one, breathe’
You are stronger than all sea's
Tower the tallest canopies
You have steps of might
Lips to be kissed
Break those arms free
Spin the branches
Stir the leaves
You can reveal and turn the key
‘Breathe little one, breathe’
Swayed the breeze
‘Breathe little one, breathe’
Whirled the breeze
Then the breeze roared
Turned into gales
Wailed and wailed
‘Breathe little one, breathe’
She screamed with her hands to the sky
Flooded tears of life
‘Mother nature set me free, be my wife!’
The trees leaves snapped
Dispelled to the floor
Every held memory shattered
As she raised from her knees
Breathing repair of her gentle heartbeat
Her eyes took to her unfurled palms
Cradling the golden key
The opening of her soul; epiphany
Just for now. Just about in time. 'Just' is a favourite word I try to use less. Rearrange sentences, describe a moment differently and see what occurs. Yet (another favourite word), I still love just. Just in this moment it happened. It just arrived and activated my mind. Just true, through and through with thousands of dictionary and thesaurus combinations floating around with my library of thoughts. Although, all I wanted to say is, 'I'm just three days late today.' With the blog that is. Not that I am in the slightest bit worried. I happen to be very joyful.
What is the reason this time? Oh, just a bit of life changing neurosurgery. Insurmountable amounts of changes that I cannot fully describe. It happened nine days ago and my life has transformed. The connectivity I have with myself and the world has increased and I am eternally grateful. Always grateful. I have had my senses revived. I feel true and gentle. I feel real.
If I was to try and define the experience to you I would be delivering a HUGE dissertation which does not work with a blog. Perhaps I might share more in the future. Perhaps I may not. What I will do now is share pieces of poetry I have written since surgery and send with thanks over and over to the amazing staff at Derriford Hospital who ensured this happened. The support, care and respect I had of the individual I am throughout the five days I was there has indeed speeded my healing. I feel both humbled and honoured.
I gave the neurosurgeon a hand-made book of my poetry along with a feather as a thank you. He kindly shared the book with the team just before we went into the operating theatre so they could all have a look. As I was waiting for the anaesthetic to begin its work it came into discussion so I was able to directly speak and share the one poem I know off by heart. It was the basis of an interactive art installation project I ran a few years ago across Cornwall and took to Dunkirk Refugee Camp for a month; #healthemindhealtheworld. With the aid of generous people it was translated into over twenty languages and created a new communication for many. Of course the poems ending is apt to the title of the blog...
Please let me be lost in the world of infinity
Where the life of life is in close proximity
Where the words of others
Are lost inside feathers
Feathers of the flocks of birds in flight
Vanishing into the distant night
Taking with them my fears
Leaving me here
To be alive
To be free
Since surgery and the truly sensuous healing I'm going through my hands have not stopped scribbling away ideas and words. I feel re-energised. I feel alive!
Here are new pieces created in the past few days.
A line of clouds
The trapeza mix of life
Layers of shimmering mist
Changing with each step
As balance calls
For your gentle attention
To all that flows around you
In these moments and twists
Of colour falls
These pastel pinks
Across the line of life
Thunder of rain settled
Roars of the rooks wings coup
Wailing with the hills travellers
Four split shadows
Riding the slopes
Steep as the palm opening life
Lines illuminescent with memories
Lifting the pressures strife
Currents traced the new paths edge
Fresh print shallows poured
As she cawed and she cawed
You can see these pieces on Instagram with the delights of images also and a video.
After the amazing, truly talented, connective work that took place in theatre I was visited by the neurosurgeon. He kindly asked how I was doing and gave me a sample of what they removed and described them as Mother of Pearls. Here is a piece created. Can you see the link?
Maneuvering gently the
Maybe thank you are my new favourite words.
Thank you stunning people of this world. Always x
Time. Time to stop. Stop the thinking of the mind. The racing pace of the heart. The tight and swollen belly. Time to breathe and settle. Time away. Time to separate from the world. Time to have space. Simple fresh, untouched space.
Do you ever desire such?
I was due to get a blog online last week. Pressure only I had put upon myself. No one else. Only me. Yet, I still felt the pressure. There in my mind. Telling me, asking what I will share. Which poem? Will I write a new one? How will I connect with it in this time and moment? What will people think if I do not stick to my word?
All of this thinking had me decide to stop and step away. Not helped by the worries of life and health. Not aided by the tired mind and body. Not quite strong enough to separate from the world and write. Perhaps this is good. Perhaps this is me actually listening to myself. Not forcing, not worrying. Yet, I so miss my creativity, playing with colour and ideas, having my hands spill the words and visions of my mind onto paper. I think of them, I do. I have made space, I have made a table, I have a board and thought about what is where and the materials I have. Yet, I cannot step beyond this point and create. Spill and develop. My life is on hold. As much as I strive to keep this sense of living up; I am tired. My mind and body are tired. This brain I have ruled by the tumour that fills the space within it is strained and tired. Trust me. I am determined to not let it be my ruler. I know of all the other pain and worries in the world and I know so many are in places so much darker and harder than mine and oh how I would adore aiding them if I could. Yet, I cannot do as much as I desire. I am tired, so tired. Friends, family, people of the hospital are impressed with how well I have withstood it but now I want to be me again. My energy and soul enlivened with the big heart and playful mind I have. That of a woman in her thirties. Not long though until an op. It has been nine months since the first date I was given. Not long I say. Not long say the hospital. Not long please. Quite possibly tomorrow. Let us see.
Then of course this blog should come with a poem. Back to the question of what do I share. Today it will be this gentle piece of life.
I found a feather upon my shirt
In a land without birds
Yet here it somehow is
Its softness sits
Gentle and smooth
As if a brooch
One of love
One of pride
Opening my soul
Love to all today, tonight and tomorrow as life opens.
Good morning wondrous people of the world. How are you? Well I hope and filled with loving energy.
I was working out which new poem to share but then realised I haven't delved into the website with you. It has only been going, literally, for weeks. In turn perhaps I should stay with it for a moment. Introduce it to you properly. Let you know how to discover a mix of my work. You may know, you may not know, that the photos you see are all ones taken by me. My fingers upon a camera. A creative side I enjoy playing with and must do more of. I promise (myself) I shall...soon...perhaps today (or tomorrow). You click on a pic on one of the three poetry pages and then ta-da, up comes a poem. Read and enjoy.
Today I am linking you to each page. Three poems that connect with one another to create one piece about friendship, life and love. A conversation had with a dear friend one day about what will happen next. In Summer 2019 I shared it at Port Eliot Festival. A gentleman came up to me afterwards to tell me of his love he lost and how he connected with the words I shared. I gave him the copy I had in my hand, the finished piece. It was so lovely to have this conversation with him and now share with you. It turns out the piece I gave him was the only copy I had of it completed. So here you read what I have put together with the original typing pieces and notes stored in my box of creativity. It seems a little different yet still my poem.
A Tree A Bird - Part 1
A Tree A Bird - Part 2
A Tree A Bird - Part 3
Or, you can read it all below. Enjoy, enjoy.
You plan to be a tree
I plan to be a bird
As we head to our next life
I will make home along your branches
Search for seeds amongst your roots
Tickle my feathers with your buds
Coat myself in their fragrance
As they open with spring love
I will use your leaves as shelter
From the golden summer sun
And dance with them as they pirouette
To the copper autumn floor
I'll take your twigs as arms
To cradle my winters nest
You plan to be a tree
I plan to be a bird
It is where we get to be
Then you say how trees live so much longer than birds
A long time, enough to carry and hold my family line down to the twenty third
How you will have to reconsider this option
If I am to be with you and you with me
As strong and supportive as you will be holding me in your branches
It just is not the same as carrying me in your arms
As beautiful as those moments will be
Watching me dance with your leaves
It just will not be the same as peering to see my hands held in yours
As much as you will smile as you open your buds
The ones I tease eager for your fragrance and spring love
It just will not be the same nestling together, both as doves
So many people
So many lives
Will pass your side
Watch you reach further into the skies
They will not know you carried love in your past eyes
How she, me, had to leave you behind
The one who tickled you on her last night
With her beak of speech and feathers of warmth
The one who took flight and never came back
Back with the morning light
Then I think
Oh how I worry you will be left alone with a broken heart
Perhaps instead I should become Ivy
Wrap you in thread
Breathe with one another
Our roots as beds
Deep in the south
We will climb and stretch
To the north, to the east and west
What do you think might be best?
The inevitable arrived
A print of your heart inside
I pondered these thoughts, these words, these lives for days
Until this vision came, another option, a solution, the answer
They say it comes in threes
Do you agree?
I know why I’m meant to be a bird
It is because I will pass from this life first
It is ok though
I will travel skies, comb lands
Until I find your home through the cherry blossom outside
There is where I will make nest
By the top window
Beds next to next
Dawn breaks with the opening of your window
You nestle into your armchair
Book in hand
I rest on the ledge
Leaf in beak
You strum your guitar
I pitter patter with my feet
I whistle as you speak
I caw when you cry
I chirp when I see your bright eyes
This season, into the next
Each spring I am back
Until together we call
Watch the cherry blossom fall
I glide down to the pink petal floor
Gather seeds, one, two and three
Plant them in the distant fields
Right down by the sea
I return to your side as sunset arrives
Together we disappear into the warmth of dusk
Light up as the nights first stars
Rise together in the morn
The first and second shoots of our tree roots
The love we once lost comes together
Bound by the third shoots weave
They say it comes in threes
Do you agree?
These days of sunshine have poured over my garden and soul, enlivening me. Oh how I love spring. The life it brings. The beautiful song of birds. The opening of buds and hearts. It is blissful.
In turn I have remembered a dream and then a poem I wrote in January but not yet shared. My longing for spring and summer.
I will wait
Wait until the sun comes up
Before I unravel myself from this land
Wrapped in warmth and visions
Filled with trails and roads of last night's dreams
Where I worked and walked the skies and trees
Journeyed to a destination never seen
Lined with life's vitality
I will lay here in the darkness
Where visions stay strong and true
I will lay here in the warmth
Amongst the spring and summer of my sleep
Until I find the courage to rise
To walk my winter paths; dark and deep.
Thank you nature, the seasons you bring (although sorry to be selfish, spring and summer are so for me and even the changes of autumn, but winter, I do so struggle).
Ooh, where to start? Where to go? As ever a hundred and one ideas have come into my mind. Perhaps my fascination with words as a child. Perhaps the first time I shared poetry with a few friends in my twenties. Perhaps the first time I shared publicly with an art project in my thirties. Perhaps I should link to my passions, my heart and my mind. Perhaps I should stop for a moment. So, I have.
Let us live in this moment. Where we are. Where I am.
My best friend, my comrade, my mate, my (pretend) big brother, my confidant, my companion, my side by side explorer (or watcher of my me walks), my oh so often driver, my man of knowledge and contacts galore, my story maker, my buddy, my absolute adorable Alan; died two weeks ago today, this afternoon. His beautiful heart stopped and all I know is that he has opened mine. He was loved and adored so much by so many and most definitely me. I still talk with him every day and head out to his favourite places, discuss the weather, what we could do, which day of the week it is and wonder if he is out of bed yet. His favourite places are the beaches (I might be bias but I reckon he's smiling and agreeing). Two of these beaches I’ve been privileged enough to share poetry with and for. They link to two different projects. These have come into place in the last two weeks. Perhaps eerie, perhaps beautiful. Most definitely apt.
One project is Dynamic Dunescapes and their fantastic work across beaches in England and Wales. More specifically for me, Gwithian and The Towans, Cornwall. They wonderfully started sharing my poetry Friday 5th March and are doing so for five weeks. The other is Laura Drayson and her Copper Lichen. A digital design residency with Doorstep and Krowji. Her project starts at Porthtowan, Cornwall – Alan and mines favourite beach – where she leaves her beautiful art for you to discover on the trail.
Please do look into the wonderful work of both these projects through the links provided. Below are two of the poems I have written specifically for them. Poems I know Alan would enjoy listening to me read.
Down to the coast
To the sands
Tracing prints of birds, dogs; you.
The rambling man
Where sun trails
Pour over bronzed skin
Meandering deep dunes
These golden grains of life
Turned by tales made and yet to arrive
Shaping gold that moves with the soul
Paved by wailing winds and waves
Travels chased and called
Singing, yes, yes my love, be our shadows
Move with the breeze
Dance with the sun's light we have seized
The call of toads
The song of birds
The whispering grasses
Chanting as you stroll
Up, up, up
Across, over and down
Creating trails and sounds
You, the rambling man.
Soul awakening sound
Of the waves and the copper ground
Carried in echoes of the land
Of lives past and lives bound
In the oceans and moving sands
Thump of foot
Thump of man
Thump of the copper ground
Colours of time
Colours of travel
Clouds of copper speech
Touched and taken
All within this lands formation.
Laura Drayson Instagram
Love you Al, always will xxxx
Bethan loves the tales of life. From a moment of truth to the journeys we create with our wanders and imagination.