lily field at the edge of a forest
scarlet asks me : daddy what is a gnome?
a house in a tree
the little grey men
oh they fled their england so long ago
foxglove and poppy
violet and rose
watercolour childhood left out in the rain
south is the winter
north is the summer
at the edge of a forest we see lily field
we see arboreal spirits who tend to their tree
we see the ravens and castles and war for a crown
we see the lake of forgetting
we live the day of remembering
we dream of a night and then it comes into being
and the roots hammer deep under the oak
and the river rushes pleasantly along
a hundred years could pass this way it would seem in the end
just one day
lily field then in her patterns of june
her aprons of april
her man on the moon
lily field where witch hazel lie
where creepy bat and slow worm and trespasser die
she stands at the edge of a forest decor of dew
patiently waiting waiting for you
scarlet says : you should write the end





Redolent of Burne-Jones, William Morris and The Lady of Shalott…
Ur most prized possession !!! A real life angel of ur own !!!
How grand is that ??!!!! I luckily have one too !!!
May Almighty bless and keep all our little angels safe and healthy…
with a world of questions to continue pondering and asking outloud…
As dreaded as I often feel, and stuff just got a little worse for me (medical news) in the last 24…
I can always count on my blessed sweet princess to lift my fleeting spirits …
Love u my precious Kristina all of just 4 and counting (she has a wise and old soul for some1 so short)…
Daz
Out of the mouths of babes. The native intelligence of children. Wanting an ending because it’s seen to be an illusion. But someone like me wants to believe in an endless idyllic bucolic lyric.
‘creepy bat and slow worm’…love it….Northanger Abbey meets Beatrix Potter…man, you are so prolific, you must compose poems in your sleep.
I love this one. I’m imaging a magical medieval forest.
as lovely as a star(very lucky too – loosing teeth close together is good – the probability of braces goes down to almost notta as the new teeth grow in straighter/more comfortably formed w/out other baby teeth still in their way) travelling into a forest’s boundaries and the first glance to a nomadic path… as they moved from caves into mystical forests to stay with the colors of twinkling stars under their nights — watching: forming their next days became told to them (each night)… “like the shadow of an oak and the balm of sweet clover blossoms, go gently over the land…” and they still do!
The gnome carries wisdom too pure to tell
Knowing each dew drop contains its own spell
Some think the sun roasts the ground and leaves dry
But dew drops ride sunbeams into the sky
In each one a rainbow like a separate spark
Which will join in a great blaze to push back the dark
Lily field learning on the forest’s edge
From the gnome in the tree, fairies in the hedge
The patience of forests is how they grow tall
Waiting is being and being is all
oh lovely stuff mr holt!
Lots of lovely stuff, yet may we try to find the origin of the matter. It is not even necessarily about pinpointing it but the trying, the searching, the sponteneity, the spark. Not the spark described, in my mind, the spark of impulse. The immediacy of the spark of impulse. The desire of the immediacy of the spark. The compulsion, the dna …… hey!?
…spooky that bit bout writing the end…innocent yet prophetic..
Beautiful image!: “watercolour childhood left out in the rain”
Dear Scarlett
‘the end’ is leading to the knowledge that ‘she’ is getting impatient whilst waiting for the ‘you’. And she is getting so close to laying all that she has witnessed on the table. But she is waiting. Waiting for what or being held back by whom? This leaves the possibly that the end could go on forever.
Your father paints a descriptive picture of you so often, that you remind me of another I know so very well and love dearly. I picture her when I read the stories of you. She is beautiful and a very bright star who I hold close and deep in my heart for safekeeping always.