Author: James Woodward

let us lie upon the sky and look upon the grass where the rain drops grow and the dew drops listen   on the newly mown clouds falls the shadow of the hills where the white flowers fly and the black birds blossom   the roots of the apple tree are waving in

  All the others translate: the painter sketches A visible world to love or reject; Rummaging into his living, the poet fetches The images out that hurt and connect. From Life to Art by painstaking adaption Relying on us to cover the rift; Only your notes are pure c

  we stumble through the pain of every day knotted with need to get things done doing the clown walk, like a walking swan.   and death, our falling off the earth we walk on every day is the swan's apprehensive flop   into the water that is his home. It t

  the sunlight moving through it,   illuminating, holding the flower open like a high clear note, an ecstatic widening   which arrives, arrives.   sunlight, like vision, making clear the tiniest   hidden veins.   From Kate Northrop,

  This is love: to fly towards a secret sky                 to open the curtains, again and again.           to let go of life.               How do you find it? Easy.               Take just one step (but don't move your

  How I loved those spiky suns, rooted stubborn as childhood in the grass, tough as the farmer's big-headed children—the mats of yellow hair, the bowl-cut fringe. How sturdy they were and how slowly they turned themselves into galaxies, domes of ghost stars ba

  The Pilgrim way has led to the Abyss. Was it to meet such grinning evidence We left our richly adorned ignorance? Was the triumphant answer to be this? The Pilgrim Way has led to the Abyss. We who must die demand a miracle. How could the eternal do a temporal act. The I

  Is it not by his high superfluousness we know Our God? For to be equal a need Is natural, animal, mineral: but to fling Rainbows over the rain And beauty above the moon, and secret rainbows On the domes of deep sea-shells, And make the necessary embrace of breed

So from the ground we felt that virtue branch Through all our veins till we were whole, our wrists As fresh and pure as water from a well, Our hands made new to handle holy things, The source of all our seeing rinsed and cleansed Till earth and light and water entering there