Camelot

Camelot

Camelot-2Deep in the valleys of unfolding time,
Beyond the hills of doubt lay Camelot.
Its towers rose above the forest oaks,
Its spires and banners caught the morning sun.
Inside the walls, around the warrior king,
The knights and scholars gathered,
each one pledged
To help the weak, to mortify the proud
And right and love, defend and glorify.

Ursa Major – The Plough

Ursa MajorUrsa Major-2

Plough deep the furrow!
Cast across the night
The seeds of morning,
Propagate the Light!

Aidan Smith 1933 – 2004

Book Plate

Book Plate

Psalm 122

Image

Psalm 122

In Dedham Vale

Dedham Vale - ArtworkBy Stour’s waters, on a day
Of summer mists and sunlight pale,
I saw the tower of Dedham Church
And heard its bell across the Vale.

Yet time stood still for angels passed
In golden cohorts overhead,
And, like the play of light on hills,
The glory of their presence spread.

My blest companions drank with me
The silence of that mystic hour,
And, by their passing, stirred for me
The healing waters of the Stour.

April 1990

Dedham Vale - Calligraphy

Adult Shores

Poem for Bridget

So softly in the summer night
Your fragile vessel has set sail,
Back through your Irish Infancy,
Bound for the Islands of the Blest.

We stand upon our adult shores
And through the curtain of our tears
Perceive at last, in all its grace,
Your loving presence in our lives.

Now comes the gathering of our years,
the harvest of our childhood days,
And in the barns of memory
We store the blessings
of your love.

For my brothers and sisters
In loving memory of our Mother 1903 – 1992

Le Jardinier

Le JardinierJe suis le jardinier
Roi de mes quelques ares,
L’accoucheur au seuil de la vie
Et nourrice aux petits aux faibles.
Je suis le portier fidèle
Au portail des saisons,
Le semeur aux bras longs
Le tuteur qui tient ferme et bon.
Je suis le porteur d’eau
Soulageant les assoiffés,
Mais aussi le bourreau,
L’envahisseur des microcosmes.
Je suis le bûcheron
Elarguant les branches stériles,
L’incendiaire des feuilles mortes,
Le fossoyeur des trépassés.
Je serai moi-même à la fin,
Le grain qui meurt et qui vit,
L’humus qui renouvelle la terre.
Mais, jusqu’à la tombée du fruit,
Je suis l’homme comblé
Humant l’odeur de ses roses,
Le Bon Dieu qui se promène
A la fraîcheur du soir.