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Thursday, 30 June 2011

Merlin's Cave

Tintagel, Cornwall, England ~ Photography  by me


The dream
of Arthur
Hidden
in a cave.
Lurking
in crumbling ruins.
His song
heard on the wind.
My heart,
 lost.
 
~me

Tuesday, 28 June 2011

Morning Haiku

The Nine Stones ~ photography by me

Blackbirds sing in trees

Hushed voices float on the breeze

Morning slowly is
~me

“What is more important to a library than anything else - than everything else - is the fact that it exists.”—Archibald MacLeish (1892-1982), American Poet, Writer, and the former Librarian of Congress (via I Love Libraries)

Wednesday, 15 June 2011

I Saw an Angel

Angel in a Cemetery in West Sussex ~ Photograph by me, Robin Dalton 2011



I saw an angel today
It was trapped in stone

I sighed with the beauty of it
Longed to see life in its wings

With a dog at my heels
and eyes firmly shut

I almost felt an angel's breath
on my cold, wet cheek

When the sun returns
I will remember this day

And know that on a rainy day
lost, forgotten, full of despair
I was kissed by an angel

Monday, 13 June 2011

What is Sacred?

Glastonbury Tor ~ Photograph by me, July 2009


There are four questions of value in life...
What is sacred
Of what is the spirit made? 
What is worth living for, and what is worth dying for? 
The answer to each is the same. Only love.

~ Johnny Depp

Friday, 3 June 2011

Life is a Vase of Roses

Roses in a Crystal Vase ~ photograph by me, 31 May 2011


I'd rather have roses on my table than diamonds on my neck.
~Emma Goldman

One may live without bread, not without roses.
~Jean Richepin
Flowers really do intoxicate me. ~Vita Sackville-West

These lovely roses are from my shamefully unkempt garden.

They are the first roses of the summer.

I have now decided that instead of celebrating the first of January
as the first day of the year,
I will celebrate the first day the roses bloom.

Get your champagne flutes out.

Wednesday, 1 June 2011

Sleeping Adventures

Briançon, Hautes-Alpes, France ~ photography by me, Robin Dalton September 2004





When I begin

to think

My dreams

have been lost

I lean out my window

Let the scent

of the flowers

in my room

mingle with the magic

of the the flowing river

and the purple heather

in the distance.

Surely this is

the stuff

dreams are made of.

And even when

I open my eyes

to find I am

still in my bed

in a small room

without a view

without the heather

without the river

I know my dreams

are alive and well

and living in my heart

and my sleeping adventures.

~me