Sunday, 20 January 2013

Far from Equilibrium

Amidst cacophony:
the wood's silence emits
hidden sounds.

A branch falls:
already risen from the dead,
an ancient shift decays.

Wolf on hill,
lichen, resin, pine,
old day, smells.

Little bird 
on top of a mountain pine 
sings the blues.

Pine cones
in the wood's cemetery
await resurrection.

Shadows caress 
mingled pine needles 
lost to their trees.

Canopies cascade
in defiance and embrace 
of natures flow.

In the wood
canopies don't argue
about space.

Gnarled roots
bust the paths
& feet.


The mill on the hill
landmarks the village below:
the signs say so.

A pathway's trees & fields 
conceal an extended motorway 
revealed only by its noise.

A conjuring trick, 
like a rabbit out of a hat, 
galaxies in all directions.

Lost on the hill,
you track extensions, 
cell phones & satellites. 

Fear grips 
the gut, a gradient 
of civilization! 


Behold in your air
the majesty of nature,
which you cannot share.

Not even with her,
who, like you, will disappear.

Further down
season's rushing river,

stillness & motion,
dissipative & liberating. 


The story lingers on
after the moment's gone;
a memory forms.

In presence space, 
different intervals compete: 
a homecoming.

Existence is mortal, 
order out of chaos, eternal,
time ephemeral. 

The way is strewn
with paths not taken
on looking back.


City street names: 
ghosts that cast us as shadows
into their sunsets.

In sunsets: 
shadows grow longer 
than time's arrow.

Suburban wasteland, 
rubbish littered allotments, 
a wreckage for the bins.

Spring 2012, 
it's never too early 
for radiant false cherry.

Park signs:
wash the animals
after touching them.

Trees watch us 
hide our roots 
in heavy boots.


Evening sierra:
the clouds giving depth
to escaping colours.

robin ouzman hislop

Originally Published The Poetic Bond 11 (2012)

and appearing at