The Hand That Turns the Stones
On poetry’s quiet violence, and the life hidden beneath words.
Poetry has a voice of its own. If words were stones, poetry would be the hand that turns the stones over to find the life beneath - the wiggling, squirming life hidden from our view. Poetry is not read with the mind but with the heart of experience. Poetry speaks to you from within. It has a gentle voice that’ll tear you to shreds, if you let it.
Today’s photo was taken last year when I was out walking in the Lake District. I write a lot when I’m there as it’s such an inspiring place.
Here’s a poem I scribbled down in my notebook while walking in the Lakes.
The Path
You see,
we need the path -
no good nor evil there
just a way through.
Life is the challenge -
our time under the sun.
The prints we leave behind
in dust and snow, is the purpose.
To be pulled towards beauty,
to love for love's sake,
to touch
because there's something to touch.
This is the path.