The warm wolf of inclination comes out from night. See her
come swift upon us and feel her humid breath exhaled from between the fangs of
growth; for summer is here. But she will exit as fleetingly as her entrance just
as we become accustomed to her warmth. For as soon as we come to love the heat
that drives down like a hammer upon us; we, the temperate nails fashioned from the 'joie
de vivre' of spring she is gone and winter will return. Then we will shrink to
the warmth of hearths and kitchens but we will not wither. There we will rest
and plan and wait by the well stocked larder for another summer to bring forth
From the first book of the Lord of the Rings trilogy by J R R Tolkien
The Moon now shone upon the grey
face of the rock; but they could see nothing else for a while. Then slowly on
the surface, where the wizard's hands had passed, faint lines appeared, like
slender veins of silver running in the stone. At first they were no more than
pale gossamer-threads, so fine that they only twinkled fitfully where the Moon
caught them, but steadily they grew broader and clearer, until their design
could be guessed.
At the top, as high as Gandalf
could reach, was an arch of interlacing letters in an Elvish character. Below,
though the threads were in places blurred or broken, the outline could be seen
of an anvil and a hammer surmounted by a crown with seven stars. Beneath these
again were two trees, each bearing crescent moons. More clearly than all else
there shone forth in the middle of the door a single star with many rays.
'There are the emblems of Durin!'
'And there is the Tree of the
High Elves!' said Legolas.
'And the Star of the House of
Feanor,' said Gandalf. 'They are wrought of ithildin that mirrors only
starlight and moonlight, and sleeps until it is touched by one who speaks words
now long forgotten in Middle-earth. It is long since I heard them, and I
thought deeply before I could recall them to my mind.'
'What does the writing say?'
asked Frodo, who was trying to decipher the inscription on the arch. 'I thought
I knew the elf-letters but I cannot read these.'
'The words are in the
elven-tongue of the West of Middle-earth in the Elder Days,' answered Gandalf.
'But they do not say anything of importance to us. They say only: The Doors of
Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter. And underneath small and faint
is written: I, Narvi, made them. Celebrimbor of Hollin drew these signs. '
Picking up his staff he stood before the rock and said in a
clear voice: Mellon! The star shone out briefly and faded again. Then silently
a great doorway was outlined, though not a crack or joint had been visible
before. Slowly it divided in the middle and swung outwards inch by inch, until
both doors lay back against the wall. Through the opening a shadowy stair could
be seen climbing steeply up; but beyond the lower steps the darkness was deeper
than the night.
Are within slaughtering halls of dread Here no cow will ever again run free Never anymore sun, rain or grass, to see Brown eyes gaze from out steely bars And this sad sight upon my soft soul mars And all is still save pant of loamy breath That waits patiently for ignoble death
And yet like a tenderness Prophesy is served But I am not in Delphi This is no revelation And I am no oracle Yet even I now know Though the same sun rises And birds still sing We are being touched By the madness of history
No soft soul to now capture All is now silhouette Shadows that flicker Upon greying sheets Fading in dimming light They talk of waning dreams In ever diminishing splendour And wither can I look? We cannot gild memories Burnish them ever bright See them like clear flames Rather than slices of time From cake gnawed by instance That all our dreams decorated
To pierce the rising dawn These yellow-black assassins With slender rapiers drawn The wasps have raided summer But in winter they cannot stay And we watch their dissolution Where autumn takes all away They fly upon a fading sun Still slender, swift and sleek But now they are a hunted prey When the frost arrives this week
A human came and took its place But there still stands one tree A last witness of its sylvan kind And this single column of wood A bearer of slumbering memory Last reflection of the ancient forest That manifests in day like pain But at night's veil they will come And this last sentinel shall fall But who can tell me this What will then give them shade? Be the wide, green lakes, of calm A comfort among the confusion When all memory of a pleasing world Is turned to bittersweet slivers Till wind comes to blow us away Into the deserts of a blasted earth But I am a dreamer, so you said But not alone in thoughts of sorrow For once we are subsumed into history The green shoots will emerge again Out into a day without people Where each human stood trees will grow
When a triumph calls for attention Would that we could settle for grey Have plainer victories of conscience But people will dance and make merry With little, or no occasion present And sometimes they wish for a disaster Just to celebrate when it has passed
At the yellowing of the days Magic retreats deep into forests And there till spring it stays The elves do not like the winter Though they never feel the cold They dance under warm moonlight Never walk upon frosted wold So look now before the leaves fall In all the clearings in the wood For the elves will come at dusk If your heart is pure and good And to soft starlight and music Take your seat upon grassy pew The elven tears and fairy harps Will retell the old stories anew
Before the evening dew draws down on day's soft
breath setting upon the coldness like a dream's afterglow we shall sit in
splendour among all this sweet chaos we have nurtured. For are we not artists
and sculptors taking nature's rich earth and working it with eager hands to the shape
of magnificence; and if anarchy intrudes, we will let it in, so that we may wonder
all the more. For here betwixt this sweet throng of unbridled green richness we
may marvel at creation and growth and offer a lost hope for summers touch to
linger upon it and us for a little longer.
Grapes and tomatoes ripening despite the long cold and wet summer
Courting spiders on the buddleia
This butterfly looks like it had a narrow escape which took part of its wing
The universe is conflagration Stellar nurseries birth chaos Spew galaxies like new Phoenix To fly through nascent space-time To spin and fury, cool and solidify Till gravity warps and crashes speed New singularities in dark corners Yielding life like inexhaustible dirt
A long mirror reflecting dark times Or bright lit reverie guiding us For we are still; Gladiator, senator, and soldier Artisan, emperor or slave We are the unruly mob Or the Sabine women We are still; who they were; New scions on the bloody tree Unless we look back to learn To shape a better future From these boughs of hate History is just atonement For our lack of humanity
May wind blow always its fair kisses Tender like the touches of spring rain This aired and soft uplifting breath That comforts the fast ascending birds It sets my soul to thoughts of the ocean And a fast sailing ship to travel within So let the wind strokes its sails to move Upon endless blue sky fallen upon water To follow the birds to their journey end To a shining land where rainbows set clear Over swift climbing cliffs and green shores
Whether we loved or fought or wondered The world is closing in on our adventure We have thickening moss on our ancient bones Young hawks may sweep down upon us But we are not yet their prey for the taking In slower footsteps of a resigned enquiry perhaps We can still tread soft and firm upon earth On enlightened paths where conclusion waits But how hard is it now to stay off the grass And walk carefree among flowers once again Now that we realise how sweet they smell
I would gaze upon its loveliness And smell the scent of a good life We all have a rare thing of beauty Yearn that all could see its charm Tis no contrived cry of attention It is the simple wash of desire To lose control to another thing Tis not a public want of strong men And yet in the quiet they wish it Held in secret thrall to its allure These men fell, bold and mighty Held upright by feminine strength The underpinning backbone of men Alluring steel in womanly flows And perhaps if I ruled the world Held its sway within my palm Women would be a revered as a rose
Walk slowly into the rain Feel its calming touch Smell the fragrant earth Hear soft voices in trees overhead And to the crest of the hill Climb the aisle of a wooded nave And there in reach of the stars See the green vistas roll away And sit upon a sunny plateau For we are home in the sun