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Dancing, over sunlit Spanish grasses, The Argus meets the eye; How many stiles, and how many miles Since I thorned my awkward knees, Pursuing him with nets, Through the denes of Castle Eden. Water springs cool, In the heat at the foot Of the head of the Whale: Here, where nymphs are sweet And the almond is pale; In the peace of a shaded portion of Spain I can do a review of my life, yet again! Or perhaps I won't bother! I'm sick in the throat of all that! The choughs cry "chaaaw"! From somewhere up there, But I feel they concur, As they float round each bulge and each spur, Of the imaginary, ossified, leviathan. What's a petrified piece of Jurassic sea floor Got to do with me and a chough? For him; its a safe spot For the bairns and the wife, And it dwarfs down my ego, as I review my life. Here comes a ladybird, without any spots; Now how did she manage that? And the blackbird trills: "I can seeeee you" As the nightingale goes through his scales. An hemipterous bug heaves his way through the grass; A tiny triceratops tank: Whilst, seemingly raping the daisy's sweet eye Is a smart, yellow banded, black fly. I'll be ordained tomorrow; it's true! But why is that beetle so blue? 'They are hanging Danny Deever in the morning' What are my mental states? 'Or the wreck that lies on the spouting reef where the ghastly blue lights flare' This is Kipling, but what is consciousness? I'll be ordained tomorrow, I said! So what’s all this stuff in my head? 'Off with his head, off with his head' Did you know why hatters are mad? No? Don't ask why, just look at the sky And think of the colours of white. Then what shall we do When there's just me and you In a thundering stupa all night? Dhruvasimha is an Order Member living in Sheffield. He regularly comes over to Leeds to lead Mitra study. "I have spent a good deal of time as an amateur entomologist, hunting insects, recording and labelling. Castle Eden Dene is a relict piece of ancient woodland in Durham, the butterfly known as the Castle Eden Argus is its most famous inhabitant. This poem was written the day before my private ordination, in a dell, beneath the towering rock face of the 'Whale', the home of that delicate crow of the mountains, the chough." - Dhruvasimha [contents] [top] [print] | ||||