I want to enter into silence
the way the sun sinks into
a billowing pillow of cloud
the way a child succumbs to sleep
on the welcoming chest of a parent
the way a chick hatches into
the downy layers of a feathered nest.
I want to enter silence
as I would approach a cave
where the sudden coldness
is welcome after the heat of a summer’s day.
I want to stay there long enough
to breathe at the rhythm of the lichen on the stone
then of the stone itself
to open my awareness to the structure
of the sandy soil.
I want to stay long enough
to be different when I return
for my bones to have absorbed the quietness
for my feet to have taken root.
I want to emerge from silence
the way a mayfly rises from the water
the way a leaf stretches itself out of a bud
the way the rising sun extends its fingers
across the earth.
This poem was published in issue 85 of Acumen, May 2016.
is what is left
when everything else is lost.
And when you are scrabbling around in the dust
trying to blow on the embers of the fire
You realise that the ground you have fallen on to
Under the hard baked earth there is a richer soil
alive with roots drawing up living water
The bud on the twig swells in the darkness
The furthermost root drinks from the earth.
The crescent moon sails across the
forest like a coracle
holding a promise.
This poem appeared in the 2018 Earth Pathways Diary.
I try to visit once a week
you make no demands
but I like to think you are pleased to see me.
I tell you things
I'm sure you already know
death tolls, crises global and personal.
I feel your calm
and reassuring presence,
you have seen it all before.
Sometimes I eat my lunch with you,
bring a flask of tea,
sit companionably to write or draw.
When it is time to go
I stand with my body close to yours
oak arms embrace me.
Copyright Eleanor Westwood.