Reiki John

Each month I will try to publish one of my poems on this page (though other things may get in the way of doing so). Whether they are serious or humorous, I hope they will provoke you to reflect on the message - and life, the universe and everything.  I will keep previous month's poems on this page as far as is practical. (Please note all material is copyright to me.)

July's Poem

 
Apologies for there being no June poem - never quite got round to putting one on!

July's poem is a memory of a visit to Stonehenge with a group of people that had access to the centre of the circle to play various sacred musical instruments.  I had my first flute with me then.  Feeling the power of the place and the sense of connection with the ancient people who built the place inspired the poem.  If I'd remembered my camera perhaps it would never had been written as I'd hav had my memories on film.

 
Connections

How many?

How many before us

have stood in this place,

a circle within a circle of sone,

and made it ring

with chant,

flute,

rattle and drum.?

How many before us

have looked to the west

and howled

at the setting Sun?

And after us,

how many will come?

May's Poem

This month's poem was written on Dartmoor on 1st May, the festival of Beltane.  The festival celebrates the fertility of our land and the true end of winter.  The signs of new life, of course, are not the same everywhere - how different in this remote place from my suburban home.

High Moor

Daffodils still in bloom.

Trees

not yet fully leafed

stand in a row,

silhouettes against the sky.

Damp in the air

and ground

and weathered stone, green

with moss and lichens.

Mists swirl across the roads

and gather in the hollows,

obscuring features

and giving late warning only

of lambs crossing from side to side.

This is the High Moor,

where winter lingers late into the year.

An ancient landscape

made by man

with burning and grazing

five thousand years ago.

A presence still marked

by circles and rows of stone.

Open space

of ling

and gorse

and granite.

Remote.

No mobile signal here.

A place of solitude

in which to create

pictures

in words,

in paint,

in film

and music too.

In the day

silence,

save for the call and answering call from nearby groves

Cuck-oo

Cuck-oo.

In the night time

Moon

and twinkling stars

and dark 

April's Poem

This month marks the start of the English county cricket season and this month's poem marks thar occasion.  It was published in the poetry magazine IOTA (Issue 76, November 2006).

Season's Beginning

(The Ovel, 16 April 2004)

Sometimes it feels like February

in Greenland.

But not today.

The Lambeth sky is clear

and the air warm

on this April morning,

as we wait for 11 o'clock.

It is always a long time coming.

Since last September.

And a winter intervening

always thins the ranks by one or two.

 I look around

for those I know in this place only

and for others

to whom I never speak,

familiar faces for 30 years.

Each year some are missing.

And each year

more.

Thoughts turn to another April morning

(how many years from now?)

and hope that someone will notice

my empty seat

and think of seasons past

when I was there.