We walked, still

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We walked, still, even
after her energy had
waned far, unreplenished
by the ordinary grace of
food once consumed easily
and by most simply taken
for granted

And in the walking saw
and felt again and again
that nourishment may
be drawn for the soul
though the physical frame
tires and slows and evening
firelight glows

illuminating kaleidoscopic
memories and warming
hopes long held and yet
aspired to. Yes, we walked
still. And as though they had
been aware of a greater than
usual urgency

on Christmas Day in rain
around mid-afternoon and
a five mile tramp from our
beloved fireside she stooped
to feel snowdrops newly
raised from earth between
her fingers

Not too late this arrival –
not too late – it was a
timely coming
and is now a photograph
developed upon the backdrop
of my mind. Souvenir
We have come. We remember

And we walk, still
again and again

Simon Marsh

Then and now and will be

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for JMT, 1960-2018, on the eve of her birthday

And on the hillside
where we stood
elevated
the something that passed
between us
as though it were a
tidal current was already
as old and as new as the
Ancient of Days – in the
retrospect and in the
there and then and now
and in the prospect of
all eternity

That light, that current –
illumination and anticipation
launched a something that
is the everything
Immortal –
Yes, something to be
heard
like a song among the
stars, laughing and crying
held safe and aloft and
flying –
on that hillside
held and holding

Surprised
you and I encountered a
Divine Love and knew it to be
an Undying
in us, primarily
in those graced moments
but also in whomsoever –
and all are ultimately
capable of simply
letting go, and smiling and
then the final thankful sighing –
oh, little one, yes, you
great one

Elevated, celebrated: I love you

Simon Marsh

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Figurehead

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September on Iona

There’s metaphor
somewhere in grey cloud
hung low over Mull on
the other side

not entirely
unattractive –
illuminated even but
nonetheless grey

whilst dappled sunlight
in and on the rippled Sound
issues invitation to a
pilgrim soul

to this side –
entirely beautiful from there
shades of green and Michaelmas
blue

yellow daisy at the door
bench I’ve dreamed upon before
I would stay awhile with you
here rather than there

Now

perhaps I’ll pen illuminated haiku

_______

yellow daisy. door
sunlit soul open to Sound
michaelmas blue

_______

dwellings host watchers
swell carries voyagers home
bring me too with you

Simon Marsh

Aloft

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Stories

Sometimes the stories of
the garden of our lives
are written in ink or
by ribbon or toner and
machine, engineered
instrument or flight-capable
quill

Sometimes the stories of
our flowering and light
are written in soft breath
gossamer touch, sunlit
thread, the sudden
resurrections of graces
we’d thought might be quite
dead

Sometimes the stories of
images arise in our hearts
the aching loves and the
false starts and the hopes
and aspirations turned, as on
a wood-artist’s lathe: formed
resuscitations

And so day by day I return
to the garden to be still –
howsoever the stories are
inscribed, however revealed
my spirit knows that in this place
simple, silent and smiling –
they will

Simon Marsh

Who wants to leave?

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Origins

Origins in timelessness
primal turquoise and tender
held by the softening sigh of
The Sound

born hearing the mothering
sustaining, nourishing seascape
of Wisdom’s womb – our first
teacher suckles, sings, balances

makes connections, blankets
secure and hums lullabies
about our shared sky – teaching
the heart to seek answer to our

eternal why. Yes, I will forever
remain bound to this
mothering sustaining
in the soul of Iona

Depth and flow
and height and breadth
and symphony of
silent music

From her I am born
to move outward
to her – and to Wisdom
I will ever return

Simon Marsh

What a home base

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Rock of the Aeons

Be still. Be still
until the will to
clatter and clamber
up the hill of life’s
vicissitudes surrenders
with gladness and
placidly to clear-eyed
remembrance of the
level-way – the going
that’s sustained by the
daily choice to stay
within earshot of
singing invitation to
steadying anchor of
contemplation
meditation
resuscitation and
gentle gradation
where movement
inward shepherds
sustains and balances
our explorations
outward –
be still. Be still
until the will
meets the Isle
of the ancient
sanctity. Rock of
the aeons within

Simon Marsh

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