You can only reach the cave by boat. I was excited by that. And once you enter inYou leave the brilliant sun outsideAnd so, the water although crystal pureIs dark,But all the same, I longed to dive right in. Just then, I looked upTo a tiny opening in the roof of the caveWhere a ray…
I could run round the fringes of amusing people’s lawnsI could laugh at dinner parties and be considered quite a catchI could find my way to the top of a treeTo the top of THE tree and look down at the grass-skimmersFrom my quite imposing height. I could dig in the annals of world knowledgeAnd…
I require something of you Which I cannot acknowledge So I ask it of you in terms of Making you an offerYou can’t refuse. You take the baitAnd I waitFor the goods to arrive But they don’t For the offer left my hand like a satelliteOn an elliptical orbit Curving sharply backTo the centre of…
Love is like the changing roomIn Mr Benn’s shop. You know, “As if by magic, the shop-keeper appeared”And let you choose the costume you desiredAnd led you to the roomWhere all roads change. And stepping out beyond the doorThe world is entirely newThe landscape and the sky transformedAnd so are you. Love is like a windowIn…
I saw the Oleander and the Tamarisk tree beside the shore. You took me there at night,Where the shutters of the old stone housesCreaked with age beneath the yellowing moon. Our Lady of the Pirates – What a tale you told of the old churchAt the far point of the bayAs we came to the…
I shall dig a well inThe dark earth And I shall fling with glee The sharp stones at the spade’s edge. I shall hear with joy the Clang of metal on stoneAnd breathe with fervour the smell of cut moss and wriggling soil. Ahh, I shall dig a deep well And the striking spade will…
This saturday at Bardschool we are sharing our work and looking at the theme of the Heart and the Imagination, as the theme for this term is Lev, the Heart in Hebrew. Last term was Teshuva – the return home, and next term is Kadosh, the Holy. Obviously all these themes are profoundly linked, but…
One January, I saw the Spring outside, with a pickaxe in her hand. She stood there in her Boticelli gownIndustrial gloves pulled onHands on hipsLong handled axe hung down at side And she surveyed the sceneWith piercing eye. “Those trunks need scrubbing;And the frost from every boughAnd leaf must be scraped off.. No slacking now!…
This reed pen is joy,traversing water and stone, trailing destiny. How can the dark dustLearn the Holy Tongue and speakOf our ecstasy? Faith in the bright wordsRadiant without gold or wealthBurns us to cinder. Sarah de Nordwall 2010
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