I want to enter silence
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
undisturbed
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.
Hope
Hope
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
is love.
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.
Feather, pebble, stars, rain
Coming down gently like a feather
gathering all the sunlight as it floats
to earth
holding the memory of flight.
You gave me a pebble
from a place you love.
It has become my treasure.
A farmer put glow-worms round his hat
to see his way home in the dark.
Our ancestors navigated by the stars.
The darkness is visceral
like a lover's embrace,
it carries me through the night.
Rain trickles through different soils
at different rates
feeding a poppy there, an oak tree here.
Inspiration, too, gathers in quiet pools,
then flowers like fireworks.
Sometimes it stays hidden for years
like an underground reservoir
but one day it will find its way
to nourish a famished city,
to light up the dark.
This poem was published in issue 9 of Freckle magazine, winter 2020/2021
Because we are not badgers
because we are not badgers
nudging each other
in our earth-chamber dreams
or birds roosting wing to wing on the branch
to keep out the cold
because we cannot play-fight like fox cubs
meet nose to nose like dogs
we need words
words to call us together
words to name us unique
words to pick off the fleas
words to soothe
because increasingly
we cannot touch each other
we need words
to act as loving hands
bringing medicine,
the blessing of a thumb on a forehead
the warmest, most enclosing of cuddles
the tenderest of kisses
words that can go with us
into the dark
words we can carry through our lives
words that can slip into
and squeeze our hands.
This poem was published in issue 260 of Reach Poetry magazine
Owl
Oh I'm such a cliché aren't I?
I'm tired of being so mysterious.
No-one knows me as I really am.
It's so lonely being wise
having such big eyes.
Being a silent flier, yet having
my face plastered over pencil cases
and cushion covers.
It's a real heart that beats, you know.
And I only kill because I need to eat.
I can't go to a supermarket and get four chicken pieces
shrink-wrapped in plastic.
Do you have ANY idea what it's like to make
the tu-whit call
and not hear a tu-whoo?
I wish you'd never seen me.
I'm fed up with being an icon.
I just want to roam the thermals
get enough mice and find a mate.
I want to be able to hunt away from your
lights on poles and eat food that
hasn't been poisoned.
Is that too much to ask?
I'm so wound up now I'm screeching
all my feathers on end, hysterical.
ALL I WANT
is a quiet life.
This poem was published in issue 272 of Reach Poetry magazine
Hug
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.