Creation Pen and Brush: For Signs and Seasons and the Falling Stars — The Unexpected Cosmology (Reblog)

A couple of summers ago, on two very different dark nights, I was able to view the Milky Way Dark Rift for the first time. This was something achieved quite late in my life because it is only really in the last five years that I have begun to explore YHWH’s creation in great detail…

Creation Pen and Brush: For Signs and Seasons and the Falling Stars — The Unexpected Cosmology

The Great Descent Towards Samhain — Bealtaine Cottage, Ireland (Reblog)

Enjoy the following audio file… A reading from my latest book, “Walking Between Worlds”… Link to the Bealtaine Cottage Bookstore: https://bealtainecottage.com/bealtaine-cottage-bookstore/ Bealtaine Cottage books are available only from this website. The days of long shadows are with us once more. Evening descends more quickly, as the light disappears into the western skies. We have passed […]

The Great Descent Towards Samhain — Bealtaine Cottage, Ireland

*Samhain festival

Dry Seasons in October – A Poem — Suzette B’s Blog (Reblog)

Two dry seasons perch in October’s shade On one sphere birds flap wing thermometers Gliding aloft into dry season’s thermal fevers, Where armored brisk winds, in dust battalions Sandblast leftover leaves from tropical squadrons. While elsewhere, October winds sail leaf armadas Carrying moisture in gusts, home to Amazonia. Nature relaxes in the seasonal embers of […]

Dry Seasons in October – A Poem — Suzette B’s Blog

The “Council of Ancestors” theory of Stonehenge. (Reblog)

Stonehenge was the epitome of a belief system that spanned millennia. To understand the monument we have to look at it through prehistoric eyes. (…

The “Council of Ancestors” theory of Stonehenge.

‘Rain’ a Poem

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Contemplate the rain, this fleeting season,
changes I can do nothing about.
Sitting, watching, listening; the hanging drops
on vacant washing lines and leaves,
all testimony to nature,
that the laws of men may come and go,
yet eternal truths stand starkly before us:
Our choice to ignore.
The harder I try the less I get in return.
But the gentle rush of rain brings it back,
the raucous calls of crows
sitting in out in shedding trees;
the clutter of my mind
stands between what is me
and my self.

Copyright Francis Barker 2020

The Fall is Here — but Here We Call it Autumn

Photo copyright Francis Barker 2020

In England the holiday season is all but over. It’s been short and difficult.

Now with autumn upon us, it’s hard to fathom out where this crazy year has been taking us and how fast it’s gone by — just as well, perhaps.

One of the things I have been musing upon is the name autumn, a borrowing from French, one of many thousands of French words in the English language. The older I get, the more I prefer the Stateside term ‘fall’, it is so much more expressive and, well, native.

Either way, it’s never been more important to get out and about in the fresh air when you can, especially on a glorious autumn, or fall, day.

Copyright Francis Barker 2020

Poem: Birthday

This image was selected as a picture of the we...
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Hope arrives at January’s
close, whether in presages
of spring or several feet of
snow. Right now with snowdrops
peeping, the increasing length
of day, it’s all palpable
at last. Then you call me your
rock – I’m very far from being that,
a mere
step, a name on some
useless bifurcation. Outside
it is twelve degrees; bring on
the west wind and
hope of spring

© copyright David F. Barker 2013

Poem ‘The Sparrow’

English: A male House Sparrow in Victoria, Aus...
English: A male House Sparrow in Victoria, Australia in March 2008 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The Sparrow

The sparrows are gone and now the winter is lonely.
Their spaces are taken by the gravelled drives
and the paved gardens. There will be no reprieve
but as the little bird leaves, like the wise man
deserts a fool, know that everything has its time
and that ours, too, is almost run.
*
The horse chestnut’s elephantine trunk glows warm
in the low winter sun, its clawing bareness stretches
into a cleansing sky. A narrow shaft of yellow light
dispels the rime on the whitened sward,
and the hanging orange globes of the passion flower,
like tiny suns, remind us of long gone warmth,
a hint of the approach of solstice day.
*
The lone robin stands guard, like a redcoat
patrolling his shed roof, punching way above his weight
to see off the bigger birds, those who would dare
plunder his own private space. He has nothing
but disdain for the squabbling starlings
who strut around in their shiny suits
in vain shows of bluster and pretence.
*
Even the cowslips thought it was spring.
Over keen, they showed their yellow hats
when the weather was mild and now they’re
caught out in a sudden arctic blast.
So too, the evergreen rosemary, whose lilac flowers,
though welcome, reveal the underlying unease
at the heart of the garden.
*
So we grew to like mowing the lawn, put up
with cutting the hedge. We let the poppies grow wild
and the elderflower rampage. We even learned
to love nettles and the funny little weeds –
but the sparrow never came back. They say he lives
in tiny enclaves now, in the fringes with red squirrels,
quite unknown in these parts, where the blackbird
chinks a meagre winter song.

poem © copyright df barker 2012

*first published in poetry collection ‘Anonymous Lines’, available on amazon.com

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Anonymous-Lines-ebook/dp/B005SGWTOG/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1338013669&sr=1-1&tag=acleint06-21

Please also see this: http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=sr_tc_2_0?rh=i%3Astripbooks%2Ck%3AMilly+Reynolds&keywords=Milly+Reynolds&ie=UTF8&qid=1338013925&sr=1-2-ent&field-contributor_id=B0056IY4OE