So beautiful. The commentary brings the poem alive. I see Micheal with his angels. Blake smiling too. The way you close poems David knocks me right over as I trip over the truth. Falling on to the warm ground of my own discovery. Thank you for sharing your gift 🙏❤️
There is no doubt that this is a love poem. David's love of the farm in the Snowdonia mountains. Love of the hillsides and rivers and sheep and a way of life lived on over hundreds of years. And there is a love for the naming of the place, a kind of hypnotic chant of words straight out of the Elfish tongue in Lord of the Rings!! Somewhat magical. And over-riding the natural beauty is his love of Michael with whom he shared all of it, and whose memory walks forever with David in the sounds of the river where his ashes were scattered, in the figure of Michael in the landscape he painted and even in the springing moor grass under feet treading concrete hundreds of miles away. What a joy for both men that Michael was able to find his angels in that last month of his life and die among the hills rather than closed off in some hospital. These lines are poignant : "...his heart so long at the edge of the nest shook its wings and flew into the hills he loved. Became the hills he loved." What an epitaph.
Sparkling language, Mr. Whyte. The dance of words, the reverence of the word, outside of time, below the feet, the Earthstar chakra, the base, working with ancestral energies. Absolutely glorious! Your forever audience, Geraldine
So beautiful. The commentary brings the poem alive. I see Micheal with his angels. Blake smiling too. The way you close poems David knocks me right over as I trip over the truth. Falling on to the warm ground of my own discovery. Thank you for sharing your gift 🙏❤️
Stellar Jamie, the visuals are charming and I appreciate your talent for writing as well and sharing your gift. Peace and love, Geraldine
There is no doubt that this is a love poem. David's love of the farm in the Snowdonia mountains. Love of the hillsides and rivers and sheep and a way of life lived on over hundreds of years. And there is a love for the naming of the place, a kind of hypnotic chant of words straight out of the Elfish tongue in Lord of the Rings!! Somewhat magical. And over-riding the natural beauty is his love of Michael with whom he shared all of it, and whose memory walks forever with David in the sounds of the river where his ashes were scattered, in the figure of Michael in the landscape he painted and even in the springing moor grass under feet treading concrete hundreds of miles away. What a joy for both men that Michael was able to find his angels in that last month of his life and die among the hills rather than closed off in some hospital. These lines are poignant : "...his heart so long at the edge of the nest shook its wings and flew into the hills he loved. Became the hills he loved." What an epitaph.
Dawn rising, a rosy Dawn dawning, lovely Dawn darling. Must be the New Moon phase, Dawning. Cheers !!!
Sparkling language, Mr. Whyte. The dance of words, the reverence of the word, outside of time, below the feet, the Earthstar chakra, the base, working with ancestral energies. Absolutely glorious! Your forever audience, Geraldine
Sooo lovely!! And warm and heartfelt and melancholy. I love this one.