I sometimes write poems, inspired by my feelings of being in nature, or by what I see. And I often find in the natural world metaphors for life or a life's events. Here are some of my attempts, accompanied by an image or images I feel appropriate.
The Waterfall
In the realms of light
high on a Mountain side
it has its source in primæval ooze
and moss and fern.
high on a Mountain side
it has its source in primæval ooze
and moss and fern.
A mountain spring feeds a stream
flowing amidst the trees
gathering power
on its journey to a river far below.
Over the aeons it impressed its
mark on an imposing landscape.
flowing amidst the trees
gathering power
on its journey to a river far below.
Over the aeons it impressed its
mark on an imposing landscape.
Since time immemorial its
gentle power sought bedrock
sculpting canyons, rapids and falls
whose majesty stir the hearts
of countless visitors to this sacred grove.
gentle power sought bedrock
sculpting canyons, rapids and falls
whose majesty stir the hearts
of countless visitors to this sacred grove.
In days gone by this power would have
driven the engines of a society
enthralled by technological prowess.
driven the engines of a society
enthralled by technological prowess.
But here the power of water invokes awe
and a sense of spirit
as the last rays of a westering sun
slant through the forest canopy
enlightening the surrounds of a
Creator’s masterpiece.
and a sense of spirit
as the last rays of a westering sun
slant through the forest canopy
enlightening the surrounds of a
Creator’s masterpiece.
Peter Sands, September 12th, 1997
See also my "Waterfall" collection here.
Commitment
At the Junction of Two Rivers,
two lives with two distinct
histories merge,
become as one, and
inseparable they continue to
the sea.
two lives with two distinct
histories merge,
become as one, and
inseparable they continue to
the sea.
Eddies form and swirl around obstacles
but merge again into placid pools
as this one river wends its way,
past fields of peace,
through deep, dark canyons and
raging torrents,
into forests of ancient wisdom,
where fish and sun
play on placid water
lightening the darkness of the
depths.
but merge again into placid pools
as this one river wends its way,
past fields of peace,
through deep, dark canyons and
raging torrents,
into forests of ancient wisdom,
where fish and sun
play on placid water
lightening the darkness of the
depths.
Until, captured by the Light
beyond its confines,
this great river
spills its life force into a bay,
and crossing the bar
returns to its Source,
forever one.
beyond its confines,
this great river
spills its life force into a bay,
and crossing the bar
returns to its Source,
forever one.
Peter Sands, May 1993
Apsley Gorge Communion
We camped at the Apsley River Reserve with our environmental meditation group and families for a weekend in September, 1989. On the Saturday we explored the gorge and I took time out to sit and commune with the river, away from the idle chatter and excitement of the kids. These two poems came while I sat with the river, and were worried into shape in the comfort of home a few days later.
The River
The unfathomable power of the eternal flow
wears away all resistance
in its ceaseless path
from the source to the sea
cycle after cycle
invincible.
wears away all resistance
in its ceaseless path
from the source to the sea
cycle after cycle
invincible.
Sculpted by the flow a ti-tree leans
over rock
gnarled and twisted
by an endless yielding
to the powers
of eternity.
over rock
gnarled and twisted
by an endless yielding
to the powers
of eternity.
The sounds of silence are in the
babble of the brook, or
thunder of the torrent.
babble of the brook, or
thunder of the torrent.
All the powers of the Universe pale
into insignificance
to the sounds
of the river's rending
of rock into dust
of mountain into plain ...
into insignificance
to the sounds
of the river's rending
of rock into dust
of mountain into plain ...
... the sounds of the Creator reshaping
my being.
my being.
Deep in the Gorge
Patch of sun drifts down the gorge
as trees simmer green, then yellow
with the first flush of Spring.
as trees simmer green, then yellow
with the first flush of Spring.
Grey trunks against brown rock
glint in the elusive light
and shadows pass into obscurity.
glint in the elusive light
and shadows pass into obscurity.
Tall trees stand along a craggy ridge
before a heavy grey sky
full with the promise of rain.
before a heavy grey sky
full with the promise of rain.
Deep in the gorge sits a man
waiting, sensing, listening ...
to the sounds of water
the river running free,
to birds darting from tree to tree
calling ceaselessly in search of a mate,
as a gentle breeze whispers,
stirring,
cold with the lingering winter.
waiting, sensing, listening ...
to the sounds of water
the river running free,
to birds darting from tree to tree
calling ceaselessly in search of a mate,
as a gentle breeze whispers,
stirring,
cold with the lingering winter.
The sun comes and goes
rain drops fall and evaporate
as time passes,
but deep in the gorge the man sits ...
rain drops fall and evaporate
as time passes,
but deep in the gorge the man sits ...
waiting, sensing, listening.
Years later I returned, alone, and hiked an hour or so into the middle of the gorge. It was early winter this time, and the river flow was surprisingly low. Rain was threatening, fungi were rampant, and the clean bark of the gums was rich with colour. The images here are from this walk, starting at the pool of clear blue water at the bottom of the gorge, and then through the forest over the ridge and steeply down into the central gorge. (My earlier photos are on 35 mm slides, somewhere amongst those thousands of others!)
