Saturday, 18 April 2009

Who is watching who?


Just after I took this photo the man shewed the peacock away. I thought the man must be frightened! I then fed the peacock my oat biscuit ~ he was gentle ~ and as a result of being so close I got some gorgeous pictures...with his permission of course. Prior to this I had heard him calling above the cacophony of children's whoops, shouts and crying. I couldn't work out where he was for ages. And then after one huge call I clocked where he was. On a mound over looking the busiest part of Kew. Protected by a fence on a wonderful stage! Stretched out and pruning his wonderful feathers.

Fern at Kew Gardens




Sunday, 12 April 2009

Daylight and the Sun

Daylight and the Sun
There was no light
Only the white night
First born when the sun
Screamed her eyes wide open
Daylight in the fields
Daylight mountains
Fire kisses the floor
Of the lakes and makes shadows
***
Now I cry for daylight
Daylight and the sun
Now I cry for daylight
Daylight everyone
Daylight in my heart
Daylight in the trees
Daylight kissing everything
She can see
***
Ooh your dream
Here on the water
Warm the sand
The seagulls calling
Kissed by kindness
***
You gave me this
Your fire becomes a kiss
***
From LP 'The Crying Light' by Antony and the Johnsons

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=USbg_pd7VUQ

Friday, 10 April 2009

No snow fell on Eden

No snow fell on Eden
There was no snow in Eden as I remember it.

There was no snow, so no thaw or tao as you say:
no snowmelt drooled down the brae,
baring what it should've left kindly hidden.

No yellow ice choked bogbean.
There was no sheepskulls in the midden.

It was no allotment, Eden -
but a hothouse, an orangery,
with maidenhair strummed
by a mumbling monkey.

There was no cabbage-patch of rich, roseate heads.
There was no innuendo and no snow.

No footprint thawed to the sloppy paw of a yeti.

And since in Eden they were so mature,
a steaming bing of new manure was just not funny.

Eve knew no one who was dying.
Adam never sat up late, drinking and crying.

And if at four the sky split like a watermelon,
soddening the land with blue and citrine,
and the drowned ground wept smells,
on one stood stock staring still.

Black was not so sooty, as I remember it.

Green was not so greeny-browny.

No boat twirled redly
on an eyepopping sea.

by Jen Hadfield
Nigh-No-Place
Bloodaxe Books 2008