October 4th being the feast of St Francis of Assisi this is a good time to meditate on an aspect of his life that gets little mention –...
New Minipoemcast
Stations Around Grasmere
Walk around the lake
feeling the blast
of the lorries
as they rush past.
It takes about
a mile to escape
their barrelling progress.
Then you bear right
into the trees,
to the head of the lake.
Stand and look back
towards the town,
the gentleness of the warm day
making the view shimmer,
softening the hardness of the stare
that has creased your mind.
In the distance
the lion and the lamb,
are lying down in the heat
and the dog beside you
is panting and licking
at the water’s edge,
the fluid and solid elements
of your life
softly speaking
in this moment of disclosure.
As you continue around
the edge of the lake
the tree-line favours the shore
and the path curves through it
showing the way
your view is often impeded,
asking you to gaze inward
through mossy trunks
and tender saplings.
Gates and a steep path
lead you back up to the road
and you lose
the easy views of the lake
as you are displaced
by so many travelling
in the opposite direction.
Hug the mossy walls
and try to keep out of the way
as the cars full of tourists
sweep past you,
calm the dog
and make sure
his leash is short.
Own that constriction
is part of your walk.
Re-enter the town you left
a couple of hours ago
and try to preserve
that settling sensation
coming off the water
and down from Helm Crag.
Go to the poet’s grave
in the church yard;
the joined lives of
brother and sister
creating spots of time
that echo in these lakes and fells.
Stand with your hand
in someone’s
who has trudged with you
and feel the hot breath
of a walked dog,
relish that you too
have breathed with
the mere and the crag.
It is the gift of this
landscape, the long walked
romantic intuitions and
your faith in water and stone
that replenishes and
somehow mends.
‘Whether an hour long conversation or fifteen minutes on one special poem, Adrian always takes your brain to a softer place.’
A Review of the Anxious Poets Podcast
'Have you ever been plunged under the surface of your conscious life and found yourself all at sea, not knowing what course to steer?'
- All At Sea, In A Night Sea Journey
'When will you be ready to hear the voice that has been speaking to you with a patient kindness for some time now, like birdsong as you wake?'
- When Will You Be Ready, Arriving in Magic
'I came back from High Easdale Tarn, and my teacup was white like a new page'
- Easdale Tarn , A Night Sea Journey
'I often wonder what my face says as it stares out at the world. Is it begging a question of the returning gazes, asking who am I and where does my face fit?'
- My Face, Arriving in Magic
'And so, the ordinary continues to be the thing that is most dangerous, and the hundred-year-old memory that we banished'
- Sheffield In Lockdown, Soon to be published collection about Sheffield
'A space presents itself as the wind and the needled edge of the saguaro cactus, speak of the solitude that you bargain away for acquaintance'
- Aravaipa Canyon, Unpublished Poem
'What is acidic in you, that might turn sweet, yearning for delivery, to take first breath. Go into hard labour to birth it, It is there, in the womb of you, aching to emerge'
- Last Testament, A Night Sea Journey
October 4th being the feast of St Francis of Assisi this is a good time to meditate on an aspect of his life that gets little mention –...
This is a blog post I recently wrote for Whirlow Spirituality Centre in Sheffield. It was edited and appeared slightly differently so I thou...