Is féidir linn a theipeann

Is féidir linn a theipeann
chomh fada agus a fhios againn seo
íomhánna ar ár selves
Tá anaithnid
is é seo an íomhá
Titeann sí i cupán caife agus drowns
ní bheidh sé a shábháil.
Déanfaimid theipeann
Ag pointe amháin
Maireann aon nóiméad

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Gach go bhfanann
An bhfuil
Tagann agus téann
An taoide a réamh-mheastachán
As ár teipeanna féideartha
I roinnt chuimhneacháin

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Níl aon cheann de seo, nithe

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B’fhéidir gurb é sin go léir is gá dúinn

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sometimes when I close my eyes
i can listen to the chatter of the spiders
as they weave their webs before dawn

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to be like a tree.
is impossible
but as a human
i can reflect on my interpretation of what sensing a tree might appear as
this may not be apparent to anyone other than myself
perhaps i do not need to share this detail

the experience of standing in the rain under a tree
I am breathing in
I am breathing out.





once upon a time;

only time for those moments did not exist,
and the clocks had all stopped
and the compass was stuck
and we were here
the walls ran with water

we are here

the morning lays in wait
the lark promises.


what enchants and and what excites?

the images are falling.

our hands met in mud.

a chello on a hill

the performance of taking an ice cold bath

counting the ravens

a marching band follows you.

to texture and scent.



far from the widening field
in a narrow town street

that is where we began
you with a broken branch
time space energy direction

to give each other attention
to listen to each sound

the film breathes in and out
the film coils and turns in on itself
it begins to die
the maker watches
the pen out of ink
the images will all fade


making the transition into the light and into the dark
accepting that both states can be present
and absent

and when i dance
i am almost human again
all the emotion comes flooding back
and back and back
and moss listens
a wild rush
a stream
a waterfall

and I stand still.

But then I realise even my blood is dancing.

there can be no stillness.

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perhaps this is all we need.
the ferns sing a lament
to the fading sky and the rains march in
the scene is flooded and the moss
catches the tears.


Explorations of Gleann Eatharla ( November 2014) with special thanks to Jynx for such hospitality and kindness.

~ by beatricejarvis on November 17, 2014.

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