Time ebbs as a cosmic tide, my soul reaches for an anchor.
Is there a sanctuary somewhere? For all of us?
A place like the childhood neighbourly hoods,
Where we roamed on sunlit lawns, dancing to the sway of sprinklers and sun showers,
Carefree, drinking days of liquid life.
Too soon the rainless clouds of adulthood rolled in.
The bills dried us, wars broke us, funerals reminded us,
And we saw the children despairing the world they inherited.
They hum unable to sing, shake unable to dance,
Violence and corruption absorbed through kicks and screens.
Some found you in the stars,
You found me in dreams,
Others in fields, shipwrecks or summits under dark skies dusted with seemingly cold galaxies.
So many orbits ventured, conflict and pain, and hope regained.
There is a pathway
And on this journey I find rest
In the forest, by the sea, on the land you give the gentle.
In the mountains I mourn, by the river I rage, all with you by my side.
As jagged peaks breathe ice and snow, you thaw the mirage of endless winter
A warmth of words spoken softly to the child within.
You sweeten time with togetherness, presence around the table.
Time ebbs a cosmic tide, my soul reaches an anchor.
– Jonathan McCallum
24th December 2017
sun warmth, wet sand, cold rocks. life among the rolling waves, brightness of clouds, scatter of rain, scent of salt, coolness of sea.
Two days ago sunrise glistening dew, sparkling brilliance to view
Yesterday shine flowing sun through thick cold rain drops
Today rainbows arc and fall painting colour on our life
Beauty light and brilliance
Each fresh day like a story yet untold
clouds, waves, gray days
liquid splinters of rain
smooth orange warm light
warmth that changes everything
one of those occasional unavoidable winter days, opaque, splattering incessant loveless whispers.
out about on street, i’m bruised, weak. if only i could shelter under the stranger’s umbrella.
“no i can manage” i blurt stumbling on, his concern obvious as he supports my trembling limbs.
i cannot yet see,
i’m drunk on me, pride briming man, scoffing past bars of drunken lustful lives,
seeing my intoxication clearly less poisonous.
the umbrella’d man sees them, too, catches a friend’s eye, and unashamedly pulls me in, against my wish, in among them, hookers and drunks.
he laughs, he drinks, with them.
i just watch. unseeing.
they mingle and chat, shaking hands to go and he asks them all back to his cottage.
they are busy. no problem, maybe tomorrow!
he leaves arm draped around the most intoxicated & bashful.
at the firelit cottage, hot bread, sizzling fish and flowing wine drift out the open door, mocking the wind and cold.
down my nose i comment on the palate of the red. “bordeaux?” i ask, aloof.
shaking his dark head, “no, from a valley, deep in the mountains. friends age it and i make it new.”
walking towards the fire, i see a worn photo of a small boy.
gasping i see it’s me.
he hands me bread, fish, wine.
i pour out my life in his intoxicating presence.
he listens, listens.
i sleep and wake to the sound of birds, waves, music from a distant orchestra.
He is still there, yet i’m back in my abode, wondering, intoxicated, less poisonous, less me, yet more who i’ll now always be.
forest, soft earth, shade, humid sky gather, glitter. sun cloud falls. splash, dancing rain and light.