Bubbles of talk and understanding laughter rise and fall -
A warmth of people in the orange light.
Some places lend themselves to parables,
As here - in Severn-circled Shrewsbury by night.

Present friends make links to older times;
The words that are your living to make live
Trace the sinews of their journeys to a
Younger name of where we live and love -

An Alder Hill- Place of meeting and of meaning
Under sheltering green where words and lives
Were shared. We inherit now in human glow
Of present conversation, a river's-depth of memories flowing here.

The Alder trees live on. Their ghostly roots
And branches now the passages and shuts
That tell the light-dark-light of life,
With newer voices echoing their questions, truths and fears.

And some to find a way together, whatever
Distances prevail, to meet upon a day – your day.
While still the opal swans glide silent, knowing,
On the night time shadows of the Severn.

Seeing, saying all, if only we could hear.

Hope. We use the word in texts and other
Voices each to each, down vistas of
Our separated days.

Say it! - 'Hope'. A rounded affirmation from
The slightest kiss of breath: intended blessing
For the other's life: a wafted seed, a wish towards,
A wave.

Or see it as a ball that's tossed - 'Here,
Catch!' ...and despite the elves of wind,
You do.!

Wet sting on cupping palms is sudden joy.

So hope returns with outstretched
Hand and smile beside this calming
Softened roar of sea.

And hopes are bedded deep as wells keep rain,
As seedlings grow from legions of themselves
Before. And will again, and will again,
And will again.
___
Envoi -

Sometimes I tread the Higher Country of the Soul -
So fine and bright and clear.

But lesser things are good to see
In all the valleys
Of our lives.

Like Hope.

And Hugs.

And Beer...

Your red dress sweeps down
Your curves your truthful self
Moving smooth away from
Words.

Running round the Isle of Wight
To keep up with the boats.
- Is that all I ever do?
But rocks and lonely beach
And distances - are pilgrimage
And race with self
As much as waves and sky.

Plane wheels slow, a last half turn, and stop.
Fading jets, ignored companions for the miles,
So loud again in silence.

Their ringing absence leaves a sliver of clear sight.
As all unwind from one life to another
Searching in a tiny 'and' of time
For the pieces they must carry off from
Now to then.

You hold back a little from the crowd,

And look away and see beyond the
London grey, a tree in fullest height of green.

And in that fragile moment's grace
Heart and mind leap through to fields, to water
And to empty skies that have nothing,  
So have all.

You rise and walk along the aisle.

You smile.

I start my day my room my world I root
Around my fumbling life for clothes for
Pen for phone, for all my pointedness.
For time. And clattering down the stairs
I clock the walls of me, my life my purpose
And toward the course the road my prize the voyage
I leave.

The cat walks slowly out of my iambic lines.
Listens to the rain.

I mean this ‘Rigmarole’ word well.
I place it on your path like flowers, rain
For you to see and know that
In your comings,
Goings beings fleetings in the greater Swirl,
I feel your wonder in the day-to-day
Of all our days.