On Leaves and Flowers and Trees. Father Ralph Wright

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СКАЧАТЬ trembling fists or poise

      in total stillness

      the cold grows and grows

      as light withdraws

      silence gradually falls

      AUGUST

      the first small leaves

      of maple trees

      are falling

      through the shade

      towards the yet

      uncovered ground

      and as they fall

      I see them for

      they twice hit sunlight

      BARLEY

      I have not seen a barley field so still

      under the cover of a wide grey sky

      as here at 6.00 a.m. in mid July

      deep in the farming countryside

      near Nether Wallop

      the silence of the fields

      is reinsured

      by the soundproofing of the narrow lanes

      made Romanesque or Norman

      by their arching trees and tall hedges

      with here and there a stretch of pure tunnel

      into the light and wonder of a sky

      stretching above the barley

      there is a kind of silence here

      that I have not seen

      since the February silence

      of a morning frost

      that patterned pine trees on the inside

      of my bedroom window

      near Mt Vernon, Illinois

      at 5.00 a.m. way back in ‘82.

      BUTTERFLY

      am I just a

      pub-crawling butterfly

      pollen-sozzled in the dazzle world

      of infinite transient flowerdom

      flitting in poiseworthy

      playful mastery

      with eyes for wings

      sometimes glad of sunlight

      swooping with crescendo silence

      nectaring my days away

      and leaving in my wake

      a litany of colors

      unconcerned for time

      blending a blinding

      eye-transcendent wing-speed

      with careless summer doziness

      about direction

      who can dream me a

      being more all round

      infinite in beauty

      than this drunk with joy

      utterance of God

      reveling in its finite

      casual glory

      caught by sunlight fluttering

      on the storm's brink

      almost conscious that each moment

      is eternal

      and seeming to be almost proud

      of being no more tomorrow

      CATERPILLAR

      thoughts on weeding

      the caterpillar

      chews and chews

      deliberately

      on greens and blues

      does he with joy

      accept his fate

      a munching, crawling,

      stalk-bound state

      or does he in

      the dark of night

      dream of the ecstasy

      of flight

      till from his tomb

      like Egypt's kings

      he soars on silent

      cosmic wings

      and nectar unconceived

      before

      sips from a brief

      ambrosial straw?

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