Granite twilight

Written a long time ago, this is probably my favourite poem. A big thank you to Mr Dougall, my old English teacher at Bablake School, for feeding me rich, rich poetry and encouraging my writing. 

Granite Twilight

She stood by the blazing, brazen rock
And embraced the incoming heat;
Not a sound in the wind disturbed her mind,
Or rendered her thoughts incomplete,
So she stood for a while, and she fixed her own view
While the moor trembled under her feet,
And she gazed at the last dying embers,
And surrendered her soul to the peat.

For eighty score years he had lain in the flame,
With skin clutched close to the flesh,
Neither rain nor the conquering onslaught of time
Has yet even hinted his death.
For the great, grey silent ambassador
Of time and of centuries passed –
All forgotten, and essence of memory
Like the granite itself is surpassed.

(Lyndi Smith, circa 1993)

You can see a video of me reading this poem together with Polished Pebble here.

Do raindrops thirst?

Do raindrops thirst and long to be
Immersed in their true love, the sea?
Then do I long to be with Thee.

And if, like beads of Adam’s ale
I should roll, down hill and vale
And yet not meet the river’s power,
But sucked by root to quench a flower
And help those sweet, pale petals spread,
This lifetime, nectar be instead –
So contented would I be
To be recycled, verily
And in the next life, look for Thee.