• Bodhisattvacharyavatara
    • Introduction
    • Chapter 1
    • Chapter 2
    • Chapter 3
    • Chapter 4
    • Chapter 5
    • Chapter 6
    • Chapter 7
    • Chapter 8
    • Chapter 9
    • Chapter 10
  • collected works
    • 25th August 1981 – count Up
    • askance From Hell
    • Batman
    • The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford
    • Bob 1995-2012
    • Edward Hopper: Poems at an Exhibition
    • David Bowie Movements in Suite Major
    • Eglinton Hill
    • FLOORBOARDS
    • Granada
    • in and out / the Avebury stones / can’t seem to get / a signal …
    • Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters]
    • Miller’s Batman
    • mum
    • nan
    • Portsmouth – Southsea
    • Spring Warwick breezes / over Bacharach fieldwork and boroughs with / the occasional shift and chirp of David / in the pastel-long morning of the sixties
    • through the crash
  • index
    • #A-E see!
    • F–K, wha’ th’
    • L-P 33 1/3 rpm
    • Q-T pie
    • U-Z together forever
  • me
  • others
    • William Carlos Williams
  • poemics
  • poeviews
  • teaching matters
  • wormholes

mlewisredford

~ may the Supreme and Precious Jewel Bodhichitta take birth where it has not yet done so …

mlewisredford

Tag Archives: silver

Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – sooner; / and later

29 Monday Jul 2019

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

7*, bridge, clouds, eyes, grass, grey, ground, leaves, light, mist, music, passing, rain, roads, silver, sound, starlings, sun, time, trees, water, writing

sooner;

occasional sun broke through
splashed watery light on the road

on the bridge gazing on the waters
the flow      caught the eye upwards

while the music scented of
mist through the trees

(grey light and silver hung
without movement in

folds) until
raindrops drummed upon our capes;

and later – jotting

in the note-book – each blade of grass
suspending a drop

(pearls waiting on the
clothes-line for the starling’s quickfeet),

then, when
my sleeve touched a leaf

and three drops merged and rolled down
into the soil down

through the years, there where
clouds draw scent from the land, there,

when a spark of light jabbed
into my eye

bright as solid substance cupped
within a lupin leaf

 

read the collected work of ‘Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters]‘ as it is published: here
this is an appliquiary to: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford – Rain

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

bridge & leaves & mist & rain & roads & silver & writing wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford – Rain
clouds & eyes & grey & passing & sound & sun & time wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford – The Valley
light wormhole: light of all interaction
music wormhole: c’mon – keep up
trees wormhole: Candaka
water wormhole: boiled spangle with soft centre

 

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The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford – Rain

20 Thursday Jun 2019

Posted by m lewis redford in announcements

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ash, beauty, bridge, clouds, consciousness, cottage, dawn, eyes, garden, gazing, gold, grass, grey, hedge, hill, land, leaves, light, memory, Michael J Redford, mist, morning, passing, petunia, quiet, radio, rain, reflection, river, roads, silence, silver, sky, skyline, smell, sound, speech, starlings, stillness, stone, summer, sun, sycamore, the Boats of Vallisneria, trees, valley, village, water, weather, willow, writing

Rain

“The morning will be overcast with frequent showers. They will be heavy at times in the south east but brighter weather will follow later from the west …”

Thus spake the oracle from the radio early one summer morning casting his own black cloud over the hearts of many.   I was a keen cyclist in my teens and at many a weekend my schoolmate and I would grease up our cycles and head for the open road.   Shoreham was our target this particular day but the voice of doom did not quell our enthusiasm.   The weather was kind to us on the way down with the sun occasionally breaking through the gloom above to splash a little watery light on the road ahead and we arrived on the outskirts of the village at around nine o’clock. Passing Samuel Palmer’s old cottage we came upon the bridge and dismounted.   After a strenuous exercise, it is a delight to lean upon a bridge and gaze upon the waters emerging from beneath one’s feet.   The flow catches the eye and lifts it slowly into the distance and the senses relax to the accompaniment of its music.   There weren’t many gnats and midges at that time of day, but those that were about were flying very low indeed.   Certainly there was rain about and it wasn’t very far off either for we could just detect the faint scent of it even above the mass of water at our feet.   Not wishing to miss any of its quiet charm, we walked our bicycles through the village, and as the sky grew heavy above us, my thoughts turned to my companion’s pet tortoise Horace who had been extremely active earlier that morning, this being a sure sign of approaching rain.   We turned down the hill past the Crown Hotel, on past the water mill which was then a tea house (I believe it is now a private dwelling) and out onto the banks of the Darenth.

A damp mist had filtered through the trees on the hill opposite and the grey light had transmuted the upturned leaves of ash and sycamore into flecks of silver that hung without movement in the stillness of the impending downpour.   An old weeping willow, pollarded of its crowning glory, leaned out from the bank across the water and as I peered into its dark reflection a crayfish, startled by the leviathan that reared above it, scuttled beneath the smooth stones. As I gazed, the picture was suddenly distorted.   A raindrop had followed immediately by another and yet another and soon I was no longer able to fathom the depths.   We donned our capes, drew up our knees and huddled against the tree like two diminutive bell tents.   Cozy in our little dry islands, the raindrops drummed upon our capes in anger and hissed at us from the river turning it into a boiling cauldron.   The mist that had settled among the trees on the hill opposite had drifted on making way for a great veil of rain that spanned the skyline in graceful folds – a grey but beautiful replica of the Aurora Borealis.

As the curtain drifted slowly by, the day grew appreciably lighter and the deluge eased to a steady drizzle.   Soon after, the clouds broke a little, and a shaft of pure gold struck the hills, becoming wider at its base as it raced swiftly down the valley.   Then the rain ceased as quickly as it had begun and silence, the ethereal beauty of which is always magnified when the rains are over, tumbled into the valley.   We sat in silence beside the bubbling waters and for several minutes we watched its breathless pursuit of the shaft of gold.

It is within such a quietude that I sit now jotting down these notes.   This morning was a grey but clean smelling morning upon which the hedgerow leaves quivered.   It had been raining all night but had stopped just as dawn broke, leaving behind a miscellany of drips and drops, musical and echoing.   Each blade of grass had its tip bent by a raindrop and the clothes line was a string of pearls waiting to be spilled upon the lawn by the quick grasp of a starling’s feet.   By mid-morning the low cloud had dispersed and great mountains of summer cumulus were heaped about the sky.   It was my intention this morning to tackle one or two gardening chores that had been neglected but due to a tiny and insignificant happening, these have yet to be done.   As I passed the petunia bed, I bent to pick up an old seed packet that had appeared and my sleeve touched a petunia leaf.   Upon this leaf there were three rain drops, and as the leaf was set in motion, the three tiny drops rushed towards one another and merged into one large globule that trembled precariously in the centre of the leaf before rolling off the edge and disappearing into the soil.   This tiny happening caused my mind to leap back across the years to remember once more a particular drop of water out of all the millions that must have fallen that day at Shoreham; a single drop of water that has long since been returned to Poseidon from whence it came. We were walking back through the village when we paused awhile beside a cottage garden to discuss our plans.   The clouds were now few and the sun was strong in the cleansed sky drawing out the sweet scent of purity from the land.   Suddenly, a spark of light leapt from the ground and pierced my eye.   So bright was it that it might well have been of solid substance, for it so dazzled the eye that it quite took the breath from me.   I stooped to discover the origin of this manifestation and there, within the cupped hands of a lupin leaf was a tiny trembling rain drop.   It was a perfect globe clearer than crystal; a gem that would have done justice to the diadem of the most illustrious of monarchs.

So it is that my gardening chores for today have once more been neglected.   A rain drop fell from a leaf and in that single drop a flood of memories, memories I felt I had to record, for – they had been pushed so far below the plane of consciousness, that I was afraid they would never have come to the fore again.

 

read the collected work as it is published: here

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

beauty & dawn & rain & silence wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford – Sky
bridge wormhole: Great Bridge, Rouen, 1896
clouds & passing wormhole: slight sneer
eyes wormhole: mandala offering
garden wormhole: A Corner of the Garden at the Hermitage, 1877
gold & grey & leaves & sun & trees wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – I took my camera into the fields
hedge wormhole: it’s / not what you do or what you say / if it ain’t got that swing
light & river wormhole: the Bodhisattva set out / for the Seat of Awakening
mist & morning & sound wormhole: 10/30 by William Carlos Williams
quiet wormhole: quietly in my quiet house
radio wormhole: within
reflection wormhole: in turgid reflection
roads & silver wormhole: Hastings: neither all or nothing
sky & speech & writing wormhole: 11/1 by William Carlos Williams
skyline wormhole: Boulevarde Montmartre, Evening Sun, 1879 // Boulevarde Montmartre at Night, 1879
smell wormhole: prose piece 2 from POEMS 1927 by William Carlos Williams
stillness wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – pigs
stone wormhole: “And anger it is that lays in ruins / every kind of mental goodness.”
water wormhole: Valentine’s Day 2019

 

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Hastings: neither all or nothing

07 Thursday Feb 2019

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

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2018, 7*, being, birch, blue, buildings, church, doing, flats, furniture, grey, Hastings, height, houses, net curtains, passing, pavement, reaching, reason, roads, sea, silver, sky, steeple, steets, time, Victorian houses, walking, windows, wondering, writing

                                                                Hastings: neither all or nothing

                I walked steep down
                                through Victorian house fronts
                                                down the whole height of the
                                                                church steeple

                and stood at the grey sea
                                wondering if there was good reason
                                                to write of it, after all;
                                                                the houses

                were now flats with nets knotted in the
                                windows and abandoned furniture
                                                on the street, but look,
                                                                that corner building

                built to the shape of bifurcating roads, oh
                                and the silver birch at the edge
                                                of the pavement reaching
                                                                up into the blue

                cleared sky and although I needn’t write it,
                                I do; and the roots of this small
                                                tree have bulged the paviours
                                                                unnoticeably over the years

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

being & doing wormhole: it’s / not what you do or what you say / if it ain’t got that swing
birch wormhole: over-pink cagoule
blue wormhole: {reading right to left}
buildings & silver wormhole: London, 1809
church wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford – Trees
grey & sky wormhole: Impression of Winter: Carriage on a Country Road, 1872
net curtains wormhole: keep the light off
passing wormhole: passing
roads wormhole: SPRING AND ALL XI by William Carlos Williams
sea wormhole: Fishermen at Sea, 1796
streets & writing wormhole: on facing the Have
time wormhole: somehow
Victorian houses wormhole: Victorian pipework
walking wormhole: blister on me thumb
windows wormhole: Dulwich College, London, 1871

 

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London, 1809

07 Monday Jan 2019

Posted by m lewis redford in poems, poeviews

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1809, 2019, 7*, breathing, buildings, century, clouds, columns, fields, gas, geomancy, gold, horizon, London, monolith, possibility, silver, sky, sphinx, steel, Thames, time, unicorn, west, William Turner

                there are monoliths built
                of unknowable antiquity

                scattered arcanely about
                the basin horizon,

                pillars of ribs help them
                breathe once a century,

                fields between have yet
                to be built; the Thames

                seethes gaseous silver
                while to the west a

                tarnished silver sphinx
                unicorn, hideous possibility,

                sits solitary as if a pack
                before the proscenium sky

                of gilded cloud steel and
                titan to all of time

 

London from Greenwich Park exhibited 1809 Joseph Mallord William Turner 1775-1851 Accepted by the nation as part of the Turner Bequest 1856 http://www.tate.org.uk/art/work/N00483

London, William Turner, 1809

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

breathing wormhole: blister on me thumb
buildings wormhole: ‘streetsigns …’
clouds & time wormhole: on facing the Have
gold wormhole: THE GREAT FIGURE by William Carlos Williams
horizon & London wormhole: early // Minoan & Mycenaean Exhibitions in the British Museum – diptych
silver wormhole: that
sky wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – pageant of the trees
Thames wormhole: Plumstead – Woolwich – Plumstead 220211

 

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that

04 Saturday Aug 2018

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

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Tags

2018, 5*, border, clouds, crane, hills, island, Lanzarote, mist, silhouette, silver, sunset, world

                                that

                                now,

                that finger of low cloud catching
                its silver border from the set sun hangs

                further before and further aft
                than the construction crane,

                                still

                and holding nothing, standing, perhaps
                it holds up the hills and islands

                behind which it reaches – misty
                girt the silhouette – but the world

                turns and the crane is now
                foreshortened

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

clouds wormhole: ‘the Bat-Signal …’
crane wormhole: Plumstead – Woolwich – Plumstead 220211
hills & silver wormhole: fifty-eight // and silent prayers
mist wormhole: DANSE RUSSE by William Carlos Williams
silhouette wormhole: between
sunset wormhole: I don’t need to go out / onto the balcony to see behind me / to know what’s going on
world wormhole: thought

 

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fifty-eight // and silent prayers

24 Sunday Jun 2018

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

1979, 2017, 6*, age, birthday, blue, Castleton, clouds, cross-section, direction, gold, green, hair, heartbeat, hills, identity, knees, landscape, lifetimes, metal, neck, prayer, ripple, road, shirt, silence, silver, step, sun, time, travelling, walking, wandering

                                fifty-eight times now

                wandering dopey through another landscape

                                (walking) up into the hills
                                to find the golden sun –
                                sheet-metal through
                                flanks of cloud

                                the snaking A-road
                                sunk and cascaded
                                in 1979, petrified cross-
                                sections there to study

                                never travelling far
                                but up in giant gulp-steps
                                heart beats in the back
                                of the neck and down

                                through the knees
                                with the rising pass

                I stand now at fifty eight with clipped and

                                silvering hair with
                                check and green-blue
                                shirt and silent prayers
                                rippling to all directions

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

birthday wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – … as the new town marches in
blue wormhole: I
Cadtleton wormhole: walk from Castleton to Hope
clouds & hills wormhole: mauve
gold wormhole: so / do I keep on writing now I’ve retired, or … / Rumplestiltskin
green & walking wormhole: abandoned sound mirrors
hair & sun wormhole: ash leaves
identity wormhole: both modern and en-slaved / to life
lifetimes wormhole: oh, alright then
silence wormhole: where did the silence go
silver wormhole: Coleton Fishacre
time wormhole: sreet
travelling wormhole: breakfast

 

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Coleton Fishacre

30 Thursday Nov 2017

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

2*, 2015, afterlife, architecture, being, Have, mirror, silver, speech

                Coleton Fishacre

                “When every blessed thing you hold
                  is made of silver … you long for
                  simple pewter”

                silver degenerating
                like an acid scar
                in the bulbous mirror

                “If a man can’t forge
                  his own will whose will
                  can he forge”, apocryphal

                architecturalisation of
                the will to being (molded
                in reproduction)

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

architecture & Have wormhole: Plumstead – Woolwich – Plumstead 220211
being wormhole: amid
mirror wormhole: in verse / question / m a r k ?
silver wormhole: between
speech wormhole: at table 21 in the garden centre thinking to / replicate Hughes’ exercise for Plath about / the Yew Tree

 

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between

11 Wednesday Oct 2017

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

2014, 7*, Batman, branches, buildings, cape, city, cornice, cowl, dawn, dichotomy, edge, facade, identity, leaves, light, moon, rooftops, shadow, silhouette, silver, sky, streetlamp, streets

                above the edges of rooftop
                are ever silhouettes

                of taller building and watery tower
                by the light of the silvery moon

                sometimes hanging upside down
                will be the Batman

                cape hanging uselessly, otherwise
                he may stand on cornice

                and look down on a street lit by lamp
                and throw shadow

                over the whole façade – impasse between
                moon and lamp –

                the eternal dichotomy;
                outside the city the detail is in the sky

                between branch and leaf
                and as dawn approaches the cowl

                and the cape
                will come off

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

Batman wormhole: Infantino / district of Gotham
branches & shadow wormhole: such such potential
buildings wormhole: windows // and balconies
city & rooftops wormhole: ‘charcoal grey-slate sky …’
dawn wormhole: every step I take
identity wormhole: circuitry
leaves wormhole: walk from Castleton to Hope
light wormhole: the evening
moon wormhole: that comicbookshop … // … in dreams
silhouette wormhole: ‘avenue of wraggled gorse tops …’
silver wormhole: garden
sky wormhole: forgotten anything
streetlight wormhole: faintly apricot air?
streets wormhole: place

 

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garden

08 Thursday Jun 2017

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

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Tags

'scape, 2013, 7*, Carol, clouds, Eden, garden, green, hair, hill, life, Mam Tor, mist, morning, pine, silhouette, silver, sun, trees, valley, walking

                                garden

                walking up through the morning
                      to Mam Tor
                will the mist rise off the hill
                      as we rise
                well it doesn’t matter because
                      right there
                the sun has broken through the
                      upper cloud
                but not yet the misty-wet, making
                      the trees
                green-silhouette and the valley silvery-
                      incandescent
                as the new-born first day

                      in front
                is Carol’s forest of hair walking
                      slowly
                into the quick-grown pine getting
                      nowhere

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

Carol wormhole: handsome
clouds & trees wormhole: in the / Citadel / Park / a leaf / new / ly fell
garden wormhole: lost and city ground
green & hair & mist wormhole: prelude: // travel
life wormhole: lesson from watching two crane flies work the evening / skating across the panes flying and pushing legs grappling / the glass crossing repulsive over themselves and clinging akimbo / for a rest until lifeless just to get their stickly bodies through to the light
morning wormhole: mother and daughter
pine wormhole: clouds
silhouette wormhole: love and precision
silver wormhole: Life on Mars? – poewieview #31
sun wormhole: too much in arrival
valley wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J Redford – Snow
walking wormhole: prospect

 

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Life on Mars? – poewieview #31

21 Thursday Jul 2016

Posted by m lewis redford in poems, poeviews

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

1991, 5*, afternoon, books, Bowie, cars, life, Mars, silence, silver, streets, Sunday, Woolworth's

                                                                      Life on Mars?

                                   silent afternoon silver atmosphere
                                   silver cars on the street

                                   in Woolworth’s the books
                                   slide quietly off the shelves

 

Sunday afternoons – Life on Mars?

Read the collected movements in David Bowie: Movements in Suite Major

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

afternoon wormhole: The Boats of Vallesneria by Michael J. Redford – Autumn Thoughts
books wormhole: nothing to write
Bowie & life wormhole: carpet worn / to the backing – poewieview #30
cars wormhole: my seat // now
silence & silver wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] by Mark L. Redford – moment
streets wormhole: El Palacio, 1946
Sunday wormhole: Sunday afternoon

 

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… Mark; remember …

"... the impulse to keep to yourself what you have learned is not only shameful; it is destructive. Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you. You open your safe to find ashes." ~ Annie Dillard

pages coagulating like yogurt

  • Bodhisattvacharyavatara
    • Chapter 1
    • Chapter 10
    • Chapter 2
    • Chapter 3
    • Chapter 4
    • Chapter 5
    • Chapter 6
    • Chapter 7
    • Chapter 8
    • Chapter 9
    • Introduction
  • collected works
    • 25th August 1981 – count Up
    • askance From Hell
    • Batman
    • Bob 1995-2012
    • David Bowie Movements in Suite Major
    • Edward Hopper: Poems at an Exhibition
    • Eglinton Hill
    • FLOORBOARDS
    • Granada
    • in and out / the Avebury stones / can’t seem to get / a signal …
    • Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters]
    • Miller’s Batman
    • mum
    • nan
    • Portsmouth – Southsea
    • Spring Warwick breezes / over Bacharach fieldwork and boroughs with / the occasional shift and chirp of David / in the pastel-long morning of the sixties
    • The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford
    • through the crash
  • index
    • #A-E see!
    • F–K, wha’ th’
    • L-P 33 1/3 rpm
    • Q-T pie
    • U-Z together forever
  • me
  • others
  • poemics
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  • teaching matters
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  • wormholes

recent leaks …

  • “…and may the great elements…”
  • paisley // implicitly
  • this pocketed being
  • the inevitable tock // when we close our eyes
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  • taking birth
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  • ‘in my car I pass…’

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  • me
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  • YOUNG WOMAN AT A WINDOW by William Carlos Williams
  • 'in my car I pass...'
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  • meanwhile
  • 'hello old friend ...'
  • under the blue and blue sky

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