(taken by JWW Savill Gardens June 2014)
tree
not even for a moment
do things stand still: look at
colour, in the trees
Seiju, his death poem (d. 1776, age 75)
Smile
Posted on by James Woodward
smile
Then new events said to me,
‘Don’t move. A sublime generosity is
coming towards you.’
You are the fountain of the sun’s light.
I am a willow shadow on the ground.
You make my raggedness silky.
The soul at dawn is like darkened water
that slowly begins
close enough
Posted on by James Woodward
close enough
O world, I cannot hold thee close enough!
Thy winds, thy wide grey skies!
Thy mists, that roll and rise!
Thy woods, this autumn day, that ache and sag
And all but cry with colour! That gaunt crag
To crush! To lift the lean of that black bluff!
World, Wor
Love …………..
Posted on by James Woodward
in a glass darkly
Though I spake with the tongues of men and angels and yet had no love, I were even as sounding brass: or as tinkling cymbal.
And though I could prophesy and understood all secrets and all knowledge: yea if I had all faith so that I could move mountains out
intricate
Posted on by James Woodward
intricate
Intricate and untraceable
weaving and interweaving,
dark strand with light:
designed, beyond
all spiderly contrivance,
to link, not to entrap:
elation, grief, joy, contrition, entwined;
shaking, changing,
forever
forming,
transforming:
all praise,
a
roses in sunlight
Posted on by James Woodward
roses in sunlight
Our sense of these things changes and they change,
Not as in metaphor, but in our sense
Of them. So sense exceeds all metaphor.
It exceeds the heavy changes of the light.
It is like a flow of meanings with no speech
And of as many meanings as of me
discovery poetry?
Posted on by James Woodward
wildflower
Finding a new poet
is like finding a new wildflower
out in the woods. You don't see
its name in the flower books, and
nobody you tell believes
in its odd color or the way
its leaves grow in splayed rows
down the whole length of the page. In fact
th
wrought flower
Posted on by James Woodward
wrought flower
I believe the earth
exists, and
in each minim mote
of its dust the holy
glow of thy candle.
Thou
unknown I know,
thou spirit,
giver,
lover of making, of the
wrought letter,
wrought flower,
iron, deed, dream
the ordinary glow
of common dust in an
Love, thou art high
Posted on by James Woodward
oddity
Love, thou are deep:
I cannot cross thee.
But, were there Two
Instead of One --
Rower, and Yacht -- some sovereign Summer --
Who knows, but we'd reach the Sun?
Love, thou are Veiled:
A few behold thee,
Smile, and alter, and prattle, and die.
Bliss were
Psalms Redux & Prayers for the Day by Carla Grosch-Miller
Posted on by James Woodward
Here is a wonderful book to look out for from a skilled and humane theologian and my commendation for my friend Carla
Psalms Redux & Prayers for the Day by Carla Grosch-Miller
We human beings become so easily distracted and even bored with the familiar. Th
the golden moon
Posted on by James Woodward
blue sky and the golden moon
The moon is a curving flower of gold,
The sky is still and blue;
The moon was made for the sky to hold,
And I for you.
The moon is a flower without a stem,
The sky is luminous;
Eternity was made for them,
To-night for us.
Sara Teasdal
torso
Posted on by James Woodward
torso
We cannot know the indescribable face
Where the eyes like apples ripened. Even so,
His torso has a candelabra's glow,
His gaze, contained as in a mirror's grace,
Shines within it. Otherwise his breast
Would not be dazzling. Nor would you recognize
The smile th
luminous
Posted on by James Woodward
luminous
the day is remarkable
luminous, joyful
so easy, to live
with the taste of colour
love makes me laugh
and, at the last
moment, I open
my eyes.
Paul Eluard, Serie
thy fearful symmetry
Posted on by James Woodward
angel tiger
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry ?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare sieze the fire?
When th
You are……….
Posted on by James Woodward
crystal
You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine.
You are the dew on the morning grass
and the burning wheel of the sun.
You are the white apron of the baker,
and the marsh birds suddenly in flight.
From Billy Collins, Litany.
looking
Posted on by James Woodward
white flower
He said, I am with you always.
That means, when you look for God
That God is the looking itself,
Yes, and the thought of looking
And the you that thinks the thought
Always, already, all of it;
There is no outside.
A white flower grows in the silen
Roses
Posted on by James Woodward
roses
my love in secret
sent this secret to me
give me your self
give me your all
go like a wanderer
take to the road
walk calmly into the flames
burn without burning
burn, burn, as the
fire becomes roses
my blasphemies
are what god is
watch the glow of g
Memories
Posted on by James Woodward
We, unaccustomed to courage
exiles from delight
live coiled in shells of loneliness
until love leaves its high holy temple
and comes into our sight
to liberate us into life.
Love arrives
and in its train come ecstasies
old memories of pleasure
ancient h
Remembering Maya Angelou
Posted on by James Woodward
I started my blogging life in 2008 partly as a way of capturing my experience of a sabbatical in America. In the spring of that year I spent a month in Washington DC followed by three months in Chicago. It was a rejuvenating and very significant time. I managed to get o
A Tree….
Posted on by James Woodward
a tree telling of Orpheus
he spoke, and as no tree listens I listened, and language
came into my roots out of the earth, into my bark
out of the air, into the pores of my greenest shoots
gently as dew and there was no word he sang but I knew its meaning.
He tol