Rambling Poet
The Buddha in Bamburgh
When I’m out and about I try to make time to sit with a pad and pen and scribble. Now and again the scribble turns into a poem. Usually this happens later, when the seed of whatever I scribbled down, begins to sprout more ideas.
That’s when the work begins.
Not that I spend long on any one poem. Usually when it has reached a certain level of imperfection I say it’s finished. Once this is done, the poem will get put on aside like a new bottle of wine, and left to ferment.
Some poems though, demand to be aired immediately. So I’m creating a series of videos to let these eager creations have their moment. The videos will usually feature a walk, the poem and whatever else seems appropriate.
Here’s the first one. Let me know what you think and tell me if you’d like to see more of them. I’ll put the poem below too.
The Buddha in Bamburgh
The Buddha was in Bamburgh
last week.
I stood with him, trousers
rolled up, sand; countless
worlds beneath our feet, sea
so cold he says
‘what was that; what pulled
our dream from sleep?’
‘Emptiness’ I guess.
‘Maybe God himself,’ he says.
We watch two gulls
glide inward, caught
by the tide.
Nothing makes sense.
Later we take cream tea
on the grass.
A small breeze stirs
the stillness of the green.
Dark clouds form as we look
to the sky.
‘If I had known,’ he says
This man bears the pain
of all
who can’t afford to die.
‘We shall play cricket,’ I say.
The sun fields,
the gulls return to watch.
We laugh, gulls too.
And then the sky
betrays the day, night
sails in and anchors itself
just offshore.
We hug.
‘If I had known,’ he says
‘I might have stayed
a little longer.’
