The nature of this flower is to bloom
Rebellious. Living
Against the elemental crush
A song of color
Blooming for deserving eyes.
Blooming gl
The Priest
Posted on by James Woodward
The priest picks his way
Through the parish. Eyes watch him
From windows, from the farms;
Hearts wanting him to come near.
The flesh rejects him
a sunflower
Posted on by James Woodward
Helen says heaven, for her,
would be complete immersion
in physical process,
without self-consciousness—
to be the respiration of the g
greenness
Posted on by James Woodward
The beautiful changes as a forest is changed
By a chameleon's tuning his skin to it;
As a mantis, arranged
On a green leaf, grows
Into it, makes t
the scent of mint
Posted on by James Woodward
Oh, the littles that remain!
Scent of mint out in the lane;
Flare of window; sound of bees; —
These, but these.
Three times sitting do
as dew clarifies air
Posted on by James Woodward
They say eyes clear with age,
As dew clarifies air
To sharpen evenings,
As if time put an edge
Round the last shape of things
To show them there;
Th
hopeful green
Posted on by James Woodward
A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;
How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more
than he.
thorn
Posted on by James Woodward
In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread:
you put this rather beautifully,
and gave me leave to sing my work
until my work became the song.
Clergy work in St Georges House
Posted on by James Woodward
A Church in Bavaria
Everything bends
                to re-enact
            the poem lived,
       Â
flint
Posted on by James Woodward
An emerald is as green as grass;
A ruby red as blood;
A sapphire shines as blue as heaven;
A flint lies in the mud.
A diamond is a brill
St. Peter and the Angel
Posted on by James Woodward
Delivered out of raw continual pain,
smell of darkness, groans of those others
to whom he was chained--
unchained, and led
past the slee
ribbon
Posted on by James Woodward
The curl of the ribbon by
leaves of the reeds, the grasses
paint peeling on the wet clapboards
like the curl of the flat ribbon
pulled b
rosemary
Posted on by James Woodward
Beauty and Beauty's son and rosemary -
Venus and Love, her son, to speak plainly -
born of the sea supposedly,
at Christmas each, in co
opening and upward
Posted on by James Woodward
here’s to opening and upward, to leaf and to sap
and to your(in my arms flowering so new)
self whose eyes smell of the sound of rain
and
Colours
Posted on by James Woodward
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and ligh
a sheet of interrupting water
Posted on by James Woodward
The roaring alongside he takes for granted,
And that every so often the world is bound to shake.
He runs, he runs to the south, finical, a
Money
Posted on by James Woodward
I listen to money singing. It's like looking down
From long French windows at a provincial town,
The slums, the canal, the churches ornate
flowering
Posted on by James Woodward
Light splashed this morning
on the shell-pink anemones
swaying on their tall stems;
down blue-spiked veronica
light flowed in rivulets
springtime
Posted on by James Woodward
A gentle spring evening arrives
airily, unclouded by the world.
Three times the bell tolls; it echoes like a wave.
We see heaven
morning rain
Posted on by James Woodward
The dawn light. A light rain.
I hear it on the treetop leaves.
Then, the mist. The morning wind
blows it and the clouds away.
No