What is Sacred?

There are four questions of value in life…
What is sacred?
Of what is the spirit made?
What is worth living for, and what is worth dying for?
The answer to each is the same. Only love.

~ Johnny Depp

singing the earth

Camelias in a vase on my kitchen table ~ photography by Robin Dalton

Perhaps they are not stars, but rather openings in heaven where the love of our lost ones pours through and shines down upon us to let us know they are happy.
~ an Eskimo proverb

Even if happiness forgets you a little bit, never completely forget about it. ~Jacques Prévert

I have seen
I have felt
I know

The earth is waking up
A bit of green sprouting
here and everywhere I look
Blossoms on fruit trees
Blubs magically erupting
from the still cold ground
promising warmth and colour

My camelias are blooming
yesterday I buried my nose in them
and almost forgot
forgot to listen to the screaming
fearful voices in my head

Today is cloudy, cold and watchful
Looking out my kitchen window
On a day with so little light
so little heart

I can see bright yellow daffodils
like small flower faeries waving
singing the earth into a state of calm.
~me

Prayer

Treetops on Brownsea Island ~ photography by me
Prayer
Some days, although we cannot pray, a prayer
utters itself. So, a woman will lift
her head from the sieve of her hands and stare
at the minims1 sung by a tree, a sudden gift.
Some nights, although we are faithless, the truth
enters our hearts, that small familiar pain;
then a man will stand stock-still, hearing his youth
in the distant Latin chanting of a train.
Pray for us now. 2 Grade I piano scales
console the lodger looking out across
a Midlands town. Then dusk, and someone calls
a child’s name as though they named their loss.

Darkness outside. Inside, the radio’s prayer –
Rockall. Malin. Dogger. Finisterre.

~Carol Ann Duffy

March days return with their covert light

Climping Beach, Sussex

March days return with their covert light

LXXXVIII From: ‘Cien sonetos de amor’


March days return with their covert light

and huge fish swim through the sky,

vague earthly vapours progress in secret,

things slip to silence one by one.

Through fortuity, at this crisis of errant skies,

you reunite the lives of the sea to that of fire,

grey lurchings of the ship of winter

to the form that love carved in the guitar.

O love, O rose soaked by mermaids and spume,

dancing flame that climbs the invisible stairway,

to waken the blood in insomnia’s labyrinth,

so that the waves can complete themselves in the sky,

the sea forget its cargoes and rages,

and the world fall into darkness’s nets.

~Pablo Neruda