A Mist Can Make a Mountain Float: Poems in Honour of Emily Dickinson

When you teach a poet's works often enough, something rubs off on your own writing. These are some examples which show Emily Dickinson working her way out through my own writing.

Readings of some of these poems are here:

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...

He climbs inside - Volcanoes -
When we - evacuate -
He tests - and takes - the Temperature -
To catch it - in a Chart -

His Payment - astronomical -
The Danger - most Extreme -
He plots the welling - Pressure -
The superficial - Calm -

An open Heart - revealing
A deeper - laval - Glow -
A Prophecy - foretelling
Pyroclastic - Flow -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2021. For Angus Miller.

The Peacock she embroidered
Is still - alive -
The Frame his Hands have fashioned
Is all his Love -

The Peacock - tilts to touch them -
The Blush - of Blooms -
Skies - in Eyes of Feathers -
His Tail - festoons -

Beyond the Frame - Hydrangeas
Be held - in Glass -
Confuse - what is Eternal
And what must pass -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2021.

And then the Rose burst into Leaf
Beneath each savage Cut -
Leaves the red of Rust - or Blood -
Their Growth borne out - of Hurt -

So we slice through Life and Height
To thicken out the Stulp -
Wielding ruthless Secateurs -
Remorseless in our Grip.

The more we hack - the more she grows
More strong where she is hurt -
A Blade to force the Bud - to split -
And rout the Fungus - out -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

I pruned the Rose today - at last -
And only left one Bud -
A Blight was spattering the Leaves
With darkened Drops - of blood -

Now she stands - disfigured sticks -
One Twig - remains unscathed -
It bears the lonely signs of Life -
Haphazard Mercy - saved -

So all the other Flowers wilt -
Their ragged Petals stripped -
Each Calyx withers into Brown
The scarlet Hip is - stopped.

Sentiment’s a fickle thing -
I choose which Flowers must die
And later leap to slay - a Flea -
Or save - a Butterfly -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.


The Chrysalis - dissolves the Grub -
Into a flux - of Life -
Spines and eyes and segments steep
In Ferment - stripped of Self -

Yet wings and thorax - head and tongue
Emboss the promised Form
Upon the Crust of Chrysalis -
Its Destiny - a Charm -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

The Window where I like to work
Looks out upon the Rose
Whose Briars rise beyond
And bloom above my height.

A Bedhead - made of brass - we placed
Once - for a plot of Peas
But now it leans amongst the Herbs
And like a Plant - it grows

In my affections. Sometimes - a Rail
Flicks dust-motes from her tail
Amongst these Leaves - then scatters
Trailing chicks the hue of charcoal -

Or a quenda noses among roots
Snouting neat and conical holes.
Up by the fence - a red Hibiscus -
Below - a Bobtail licks her scales

And ferns block out the sunlight
Or Peppermints leave it laced
With shadows. A Lavender
Makes knops of Purple -

Lemon Balm - a calming Simple -
And Marigolds - marrying gold
To green - jostle with Lemongrass -
As Mountain Thyme creeps between.

A flash of Wrens seems to blend
With Agapanthus - Poppies’ shreds
Wilt in summer - Blackflies gather
On the Mint and Balm - and rise

Like tornadoes at the Watering.
When Dusk is on its way
I look again - there glows
Our Orchid-coloured lampshade

Reflected in the Rose.

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

Hovering - on the Edges -
The Kestrel - in my head -
Melts into a Brightness-
Becomes a vivid - Wood -

Detailed - to the leaf-veins -
Quivering - with Growth -
Hallowed - out of Harvest -
Echoing - with Truth -

Vibrant - to the Axils -
Shimmering - beyond -
Melting - and condensing
Into - a Bracken Frond -

The Leaf becomes a Feather -
The Twig - becomes a Bone -
And Frond returns - to Kestrel -
She flies me - deeper - Home -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.


The Butterfly’s Soliloquy
Is Breath and Wind - and Lift -
A Wish - dispelling Gravity -
To send - a Soul - aloft -

I hear it - like a Feather
Floating - from a Bird -
It utters - without speaking -
And means - without a word -

It hushes with an Updraft -
It brushes - through the Light -
It spirals - into Sunshine -
Exhales - and is lost -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

A Blur of Cobalt - Bead - of Eye -
Behind a screen of leaves
Is all that we shall see today
Of how he - fleeting - lives -

Between interstices - of Twigs -
A sidestep - into flight -
A hawk or raven’s claw - from Death -
And every moment - fraught -

Who yesterday was swelled - with Pluck -
And brazen on the Lawn
Snapped up Midges - at a flit -
Then scattered down the Lane.

Perhaps some Shadow hovered
And darkened - as he flew -
So now he is at pains - to hide
Extravagance - of Blue -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

Silence is not loved enough -
We break it - at a whim -
Not content with Wilderness -
The wideness - of the Wind -

The muffled flight - of Nightjars -
The whisper of the Dusk -
The quivering of whiskers -
The glaze - upon a Lake.

If you - once - heard their engines
Revved merciless - to tear
The stillness from the Twilight
As fingernails - rend hair -

And heard the Tranquil murdered
As talons crush - a mouse -
You’d hold your upstairs Window
As sacrosanct - your House

Would be your only Haven
From chainsaws - raceways - roads -
We took the Tulle of Nature
And roared it - into shreds -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

Pale exhaustion made me lie
With clouds - across my gaze -
Sunlight made them dissipate
Like threads teased out - of gauze -

Vanishing into a Sky
So vast - it drowned my mind -
And every thought I ever had
Was scorched - in solar Wind -

And in that Blue - at last beheld
With Eye - the end of I -
I watched a World - evaporate -
In depths that swallowed - me -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

Cicada easing from the Shell
Unsheathing all her Limbs –
Her Crust of Chitin – jettisoned –
Becomes the frame she climbs –

A sexless Exoskeleton –
Exquisite empty Cast –
And she a Denizen of Night –
A Life the Dew has kissed –

Who breathes through open Spiracles –
Who stares through Eyes of Froth –
Who soon will stridulate her Praise
Of Earth – that thrust her forth –

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

I found a shell so riddled
It seemed to be - of Lace -
More Air than solid Substance -
Less Permanence - than Loss -

The Bobbins that had made it
Were Shipworms - and the Sand -
I stopped to find its Filigree
Had crushed - inside my hand -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

Black Swans under Thunderclouds
Score wakes upon the Silver -
Bodies ink - faces nibs -
Etching out - the Weather -

Each bill tipped - with Cochineal -
To tilt - toward the Storm -
Embodiments of Shadowings -
Dark Promisers - of Dawn -

I wish that you could watch our Swans
Swim Night into our Day -
As if it were not Life - to live -
Nor even Death - to die -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.


Then - is the End of Knowing -
Cold - is the Unknown - When -
Done - with the Work of shining -
Constellations - None -

Dark - as a Globe - upturning
Over a Ground - undone -
Moon - and the Snow - obscuring -
White - melting into - Gone -

Black - is the Flame unguessing -
Never - the Light - again -
Hope - is the Face - averting -
Turning the Eyes from - Then -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

I saw the Children crouching low -
Their cheeks between their knees -
Intently staring at the sand -
And - ruffled by the breeze -

A little Puddle full of brine.
I stopped to see the cause -
Spindling amid the silt
A Prawn - with heavy Claws -

Each of them an algal green
And shunted up ahead -
A pale - aloof - transparent Thing.
Seized with mortal Dread

It spurted - sudden as a flinch -
And shot into a Hole
As though it feared to be plucked
From Home - and swallowed whole.

I shot Home too - within the Hour -
Propelled - in my own right -
Tender-shelled and burden-clawed
Launched into - Respite.

Life can be a curious Child -
How prawnlike I can be
When its shadow looms too close
And bends - to poke - at me -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

An antique Compass on a chain
Encompasses my throat -
The Needle - ever quivering -
Circumscribes - a Nought -

I hold it up before my Eye -
The Iris spanned - across -
Whirling to disorient -
The Pupil darts - off Course -

Cards conspire to confuse -
Coordinates - compel -
Now there is no further North
Encircling - a Pole -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

I hid behind the Curtains –
He flushed me – into Sight –
I scampered down the Hallway –
Invoked the Dark – of Night –

He blundered – into Tables –
I hid – behind a Chair –
He paused to light – a Lantern –
I was – no longer – There –

I hunched myself – beneath a Bed –
I felt the Mattress pitch –
I knew he sat above me now –
And kept a Spider’s watch –

I heard his Pulse – I smelt his Rage –
His Incandescence – burned –
Then he stood – astride my World –
My Darkness – overturned –

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

A soft Cicada - fresh emerged
Is rose-pink and tender -
Freshly conjured out of Liquid
Buried all the Winter -

Resting on a Superstructure
Crisp as fallen leaf -
Fragile to a poking finger -
Husk - of fleeting Life -

Beyond conjecture - her Achievement -
A Toil nobody sees -
Pale - unmoving - one more Moment -
Dreaming Roots - of Trees -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.


We’ve been interred - a Century -
Sisters - Father - Mother -
Five Skeletons of common Bone -
Under Flagstones - gathered -

What remains - above the Ground -
Names - engraved in Marble -
Compacted underneath your feet -
Earth - to keep Us humble -

So - we’d slumber ‘til the Judgement
Placid under Stone -
And leave you to your lives - provided
You leave Us alone -

But we scream and rend our Coffins
‘Til our fingernails are split -
Now We are alone - our Father
Grubbed out of soil and grit -

Flee - and leave the Church door open -
Run aghast - in living dread -
Out into the bleeding Silence -
Jolly Robin - lying dead -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

I never met a Hummingbird
Whose iridescence flashed
Before my eyes - like nectar’s ghost -
In sugar-questing flight -

But quiver-plumaged flickerings
Bright ephemeral forms -
Electricities - of Wrens -
Cobalt hearts - of flames.

You and I - though “introverts” -
As long as we draw breath
Live for mundane miracles
Familiar - to both -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

A Mist can make a Mountain float –
Reflected upside-down –
As egrets stir the mirror-glazed
Surface of the Dawn –

Obliterate a cityscape
Behind a veil of light –
And leave the Heart sequestered
In ecstasies – of Sight –

Where every line is simplified
And every ripple – smoothed –
And solitary – Soul – exult –
In rising Vapours – breathed!

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

By imperceptible degree
We die - if not by shock -
No remedy - it will not do
To spike the nerveless Clock -

Or ram a needle through the spokes
Or try to break the teeth
Of cogs cut out of Adamant
Or hold the Piece beneath

Some torrent - for it will not drown
Nor yet submit - to wrath -
But hardly noticed - drive the Hand
That ticks us out - to Death -

A pendulum - impervious -
Sways dauntless - ever on -
Until machine mortality’s
The only thing not - gone -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

When we were deep in trespassing
We came upon a mound
The termites heaved up out of soil –
A hive of art – and mind –

Orchids stippled at its base
Stems thrust into ochre –
Tubers swelled beside the Queen
In her forbidden acre.

Hidden our meandering ways
As roots that twist in earth
Until a flagrant flowering
In unbidden – growth –

Sung its sunlight into space
Through every dappled hollow
And marked the ground where none may go
Jubilant – in yellow –

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

I feel a Leather compassing
About my bleeding Mind
And Someone drew the Buckle - in -
I cannot clutch - to mend -

I sense it hanging - like a Shroud
From the flexing Strap -
Blinded by a Tightening
That never deigns - to Stop -

Tyrant of my screeching Soul
Who blots - with stunning Light -
My holy Dark - in negative -
Searing into - White -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

I throw my Inspiration – out –
It falls – to a Black Hole –
The Word can only whirl about
Extinguishment – of Soul –

The circuit of my World – is flung
Into hungry Dark –
With all the Beauty – all the Art –
Every human Work –

Yet in the very Vortex – look –
It flies – on fragile Wings –
The Fragment indestructible
Enduring all our Wrongs –

Airborne Tissue – veined for strength –
Alive – and ever sought –
Elusive – tangible – untamed –
Through the blast – of Nought –

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

Where the gold-green Mirror Tree
Is leaning into Sun
A Beetle of Enamel sleeps
As Whistlers smelt their Song.

The Rose spots her Elytra –
Dimpled at the edges
With lines of perfect pinpricks
Small as Eyes – of Midges –

Yet with your withering poisons
I see you stoop – to spray –
I wonder how – such Gildings! –
You bear to look – away –

What eye could close undaunted
And who could turn aloof?
I swear – I fairly staggered –
Bedazzled so – with Leaf –

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.


I saw a Type of Butterfly
Not seen since – as a Boy –
I glimpsed one at a Nettle-bed
And chased it on its Way –

And glimpsing as it flitted
In and out of Light
How the Sun reflected
Off flashing Wings – I sought –

The Velvet of its Burgundy
The Sulphur in its Splash
Melting into Shadow-glades –
A Child’s fleeting Wish –

And here it is – enduring
On Blossoms of the Lime –
That bright Glimpse of the Imago
Untainted yet – by Time –

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020. The butterfly is Vanessa itea.

I learned a line – of cruelty –
Too offhand to recite –
Because it will not scan – with Love –
I stutter – to relate –

How it tore the heart from Truth
And fed it – to the flies –
Made a mockery of Hope –
Proclaimed as Gospel – lies –

It sought to staunch the singing Bird
With a throttling hand
And throw it to the howling crowd
Who scorned – to understand.

When coffins of Humanity
With unctuous flags – are draped –
I marvel that the verse survived
Or that the Bird – escaped –

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.


When Cockatoos come to our trees
To probe grubs under bark
And all the Grove creaks with the calls
Of wild things on the Brink –

With voices of split Hakea pods
And Banksias’ pursed beaks
And Grass-Tree foliage in the rasps –
The Grove resounds – with Cracks –

Of splintered bark in plier-sharp bills –
It’s then I wonder – why –
Humans stoop to scorn each other –
Interrupt – and lie –

Or worse that – incarcerate –
The Ravaged One – who flees –
If hate grows from too little time
Spent staring – into trees –

If Cockatoos glimpsed – through the leaves –
Could probe our hatreds – yet –
Like grubs that tunnel under bark –
Ere Evil wipes – us – out –

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.


I like a Bee – for Industry
More than other workers
For something in her Business
Has time to pause – for Wonders –

And there’s a Serendipity
About her waggling way –
Refracted by – Kaleidoscopes –
In her compound eye.

One flower – she sees – a hundred times –
It lets the Nectar run –
She steals a certain Leisure to
Distil it – with the Sun –

Inspiration’s accident –
Fermented – out of Light –
Is Honey that can rarely – be –
Brewed well – by flying – straight –

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.


High up the beach – there is mudstone –
Solid and pitted with holes –
I half-think stone crabs must have built them
Of silt – and of powder – of shells –

But Science still masters me – sometimes –
With questions – like – How will it end –
Will petrification work faster
Than water wears stone into sand –

Or will high tide and sediment ever
Make as they mar – equally –
Mudflats in stasis with mudstone
‘Til mountains are cast into sea?

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

An Apple - sheds a ribboned peel -
The skin retains a curl
The shape of all Encompassing -
Fresh now - soon to spoil -

Pale of flesh and bright of skin -
Juice-wet and exposed -
Coiled upon a cutting-block -
Not yet - oxidised -

Wait - and hold the breath - a spell -
Let this be - Enough -
A paring to perfection - spilled
From the whetted Knife -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

The heron brings both her feet forward
In the very last moments of flight -
And now that I’m coming here always
She closes her wings unafraid.

I think how I once nursed a fledgling
And wonder - perhaps this is she -
Who eyes me alert and unnerving
And holds the fish under her sway -

And if I once held her to feed her -
I hold her now - poised to land -
And she holds the right to ignore me
An inch before touching - the ground -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

How easy – to be overlooked –
As Nightingales – are drab –
Despite your incandescent voice
Obscurity – can’t curb –

And though you wake to watch the dawn
And stay to feel the squall –
They think it all an Accident –
The Melody – you spill –

They never knew – you risked the kill –
The talon’s itch – to tear
Your breastbone from your gizzard –
They never felt – the Fear –

Or how he lashed at you – you fled
And nursed an open Gash –
Where the spinney was too sharp
For sparrowhawks – to rush –

And when you spurned your Self for Song
They never knew you bled –
They thought you spilled your Genius
Like feathers – blithely shed –

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.


At ebbing tide the Osprey bathes
Breast-deep where the River
Meets the glassy Estuary –
Feathers all a-quiver –

And everything about her speaks
Of relish in her splashing –
She takes a bow and ducks her head –
Heedless – in her washing –

Of all my joy behind the screen
Of leaves and tangled branches –
Her eye – bespattered – nictitates
Behind her feathered lashes –

So when she staggers into flight
Amid a dreamy haze –
I fear that something in her feels
The prying Human Gaze –

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

The summons of the Whistling Kite
Is plaintive in the air
Beyond the paperbarks along
The estuary shore –

She draws me to the hill of grass
From all attachments – torn
Like spindrift – in bewilderment –
On Country – not my own –

And wheels above me unafraid
Fixing me with an Eye
Fawn as all her plumage –
And banks – and wheels away.

As thermals spread her primaries
She eagles into space –
I turn to see an Osprey
Launching – into grace –

And with two Miracles aloft –
Where yearning – never lands –
I do not know – quite where to look –
Or where to point – the lens –

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.


The Waterdance is like a Cloud
Of Starlings in the Dusk
That turn – return – and scud away –
Coalesce and whisk

Across a Sky or Water
Fluid in their Flight –
A flowing Choreography –
A Multitude afloat –

They chase about haphazard –
Whisper – and are gone –
And though each Brain is lucid
A Million are as One –

You might think that the scudding
Is purposeless – or blind –
Yet never once colliding –
The Starlings – and the Wind –

Are ordered by the Heavens
To pull off such a Feat
And make a pure Perfection
Of Chaos so complete.

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020. The title was suggested by Simone Keane.

I saw an osprey shake herself
As hounds do - but in flight -
Bedraggled as she rose aloft.
She shuddered and she fought

To add a foot of altitude
So she could clear a tree
Feathers tangled like a mop
As droplets flew astray -

What was sleek turned scrawny
What was ordered - frayed -
And though I stared a moment
I had to look - away -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

I heard a Wind wreath round the House
Buffeting the Windows -
And watched it blow the Wrens beyond
And hurl about the Swallows -

But there were Crows who flew in queues
To an updraft by the Road -
And catapulted into it
Unheeding any Dread -

And cawed their Thanks out to the Gale
That flung them into Sky -
That sent them reeling into Rain
And tore the World - away -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

Happiness is an ebbing Tide
Relinquishing the Shore
And should it draw me further yet
The Precipice is sheer –

And drops down to a dark abode
Where Dignity is slight
Where all its toothy denizens
Must carry their own light

And cast it on the gloom ahead
Yet dare not look – beneath –
Lest the glistening reveal
A Multitude – of Teeth.

What use have I – for Happiness –
Withdrawing with the flow –
Though Tide is sure – it’s sure to come
And just as sure – to go –

Though I might labour to create
Or clamour to be free –
What fool would hope for Constancy
In Dreams as deep – as Sea?

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

Between the Swallow and her Nest
In mid-step – I must pause
To keep the equilibrium
Restrain the gasp – of Praise –

Like surface tension at the brim
She quivers – set to spill –
I will myself – invisible –
To hold her – for a Spell –

Perhaps it lasts – Eternity –
And somewhere – we’re still There –
She a-teeter on the Verge –
Me – all breathless Care.

I lost myself to Heaven
Where this is ever True –
Me – I never moved again –
And no! She never flew –

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

Here is the Osprey’s vantage point –
She perches to survey
Her principality of Air.
The Talons that destroy

Claw her Treetop – tentative –
By Wings – held half aloft –
Of oystercatchers – herons – gulls –
Heedless – or aloof –

She never sits up here to eat –
A stump will serve for that –
But to breathe the Wind awhile
Her fierce eyes lost in thought –

Until her Mate flies draggle-wet
A fish turned in his Talons
To face the breeze – and now she laughs
And tears away – the Silence –

And though her Tree died long ago –
Salted by the Flood –
It thrills beneath her Claw – and sparks
A Firestorm in my Blood.

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

Reflecting rose - the surface flows
Backwards to slack-water -
And egrets wade unruffled glaze
Emerging out - of winter.

Could I stalk as still as them -
My movement scarce a flicker -
I could vanish into white
Lost in light and lustre -

Until an unsuspecting shoal
Make the surface shudder
And my whiplash neck comes down -
At its tip - a dagger -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

Life is a smudging in darkness
When the attention slips -
And light is strewn across the Deep -
As condensation drips

Down a drizzled window-pane -
A runnelling of colour -
A fleeting piquancy - on tongue -
A smattering - of odour -

And nothing will remember
The time we have not spared -
Still - I stagger - drunk on this -
A Moment can be - smeared -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

Sunspots open up their mouths
As if they were alive -
As beaks of starfish - or minute
Stomata - on a leaf -

So telescope and microscope
Reveal it all - alike -
There is a Hunger haggling
Everywhere you look -

And I could drown in Chlorophyll
Or in the dark of Fire -
If Death will kiss me either way -
What use have I - for fear -

Who born - by mouth - must die - by mouth
And go as I begin -
Irrelevance - writ large or small -
Eternally sucked in -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020. Inspired by images of sunspots taken by GREGOR, the largest solar telescope in Europe.

A turban shell half-fossilised
Enamel stripped away -
Scaled with layers of oyster crust
The Deep could not destroy -

Scooped out of congealing Silt
By Storms our Hubris caused -
Sits upon an oaken Shelf -
A Coil the Ocean cast -

We tend the Art of treasuring
A worn Museum Piece
Until we make of every Shell
A Relic torn - from Place -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

A heavy pruning of the Vine
Brings it close to Death -
Obedient branches and a stem
Above a weedless Earth

Scarcely seem a Plant at all -
When the leaves are gone
I think the stripped-down structure is
More like a Skeleton -

And when the grapes grow premature
They are untimely nipped
As Poets’ fruits - importunate -
By Criticism - stopped -

Or by an Audience limited
Or hemmed by walls - of Sky -
Or by reason’s Secateurs
Forbidding me - to stray -

But that is why I gnarl myself
Refusing - quite - to die +

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

Distraction - is a Thicket
Where no path ever wound -
Nor tree-fall let in sunlight
But everywhere is Wood -

No understorey grows there -
All is tangled brown -
The fallen seeds lie dormant
Where Thought has never - grown -

And where there is no Centre
And no Extremity -
The Word is formed by formlessness
And Voice is never - me -

But Birds - which know each Tree apart -
As Adjective - or Noun -
Will sing the Verb - Identify -
Though I am but - Anon -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

The Nerve which makes the Eyelid twitch
And yearn for shrouding Night
Connects discretely with the tongue
That whispers grimly – Nought –

And Longing finds its Lodge in me –
A Flutter and a Breath –
A yawning to engulf the Dark –
Devour the whole – of Death.

Slice me open – you’ll not find –
Beneath the Mask of Face
A clue to what provoked the Twitch
Or motive for the Force –

But only Tissue – bare-exposed –
No Tick that caused the Itch –
And then it will be vain to grieve –
Twice as vain – to stitch –

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020. The picture is adapted from an engraving of the facial and acoustic nerves, 1852.

I walk to meet two paperbarks
Uprooted by a Tide -
Sepia as broth - or tea -
And frothing at my tread

On sand that sinks beneath my soles.
They lean on ashen limbs -
These ancients with their roots aslant
And bleached. The structure looms -

A silhouette - and questing still
Though disgorged out of ground
Like every hope - still beautiful -
And clean - and pure - and drowned -

And like a hope - disconsolate -
Stripped of flower and leaf -
A wreckage of the Actual -
Beyond the scope - of Grief -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

Bole-bark – green leaf – lichen – rock –
Are fundamental truths –
There is no culture can usurp
The reign of undergrowth –

Though we rage at it and raze –
And cry – Eradicate –
Bole-bark – green leaf – lichen – rock –
Are staunch – and they can wait –

And wait – and wait – to reign – again
When sovereignty is ceded –
From the land which ruled us – all –
It’s us who have been – weeded –

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

I sat out in the wind today -
Some see this as a Fault -
To revel in the rippling grass -
Throw back my hair - exult -

But I saw gulls seized by the Sky
Who let themselves be whirled
Over spume-white waters
Surrendered - to the Wild -

A little plover hit a gust
So fast - it flipped him over -
Then scudded squealing with delight
Enraptured by real Weather -

The osprey taloning her post
Was jubilant as I -
Humans hid behind their Walls
As we tore forth - to die -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

Roots – exposed to open air
And seaweed – out of water –
Disinterments of the heart –
Anatomies – of wonder –

Veined organs pulsing free
From the ruptured mound –
Blurtings of mortal words
Gushing through the wound –

Venting of the naked verb
From the yawling throat –
The tongue – transfixed by the barb
Writhes – to gag it – out –

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

As it is above the ground -
So it is - below -
Echoing beneath the soil
How the branches - grow -

Until a Tide or tearing Wind
Reveals what Earth has hidden -
Calamity made permanent -
Sculptural and sudden -

And half in Life - half in Death -
We struggle on - in Leaf -
Partly rooted yet - in Joy -
And half-exposed - in Grief -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

A heron yawned - a blink ago
Unconscious - unobserved -
A moment’s reflex that disturbed
The stillness of the bird

Enough to send the fish she watched
Scudding from the shallows
Ogling with blinkless eyes
From the cooler hollows -

And all was stasis once again -
The whiplash throat too still -
And so to stay a wordless day -
Then strike - then spear - then spill -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

A Songbird flew straight through our fence -
Her wings were timed to close
As she shot between the Wires -
She perched - began to scold

With little needle-breaths of song
Keener than her claws -
Her sharps and flats were quite the tune
To scare away the cold -

And tailor turned to alchemist -
Nimble on her toes
She pinned her singing to the Sun
Transmuting air - to gold.

Transmuting air to gold - I sing
In notes that have no scores
And so the soul escapes the Wires
And what was solid - thaws -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

An oystercatcher whistling
Above the rasp of terns -
Squabblings of roosting birds
On shores - in huddled forms -

And every human tucked away
Safe - behind a wall -
That is when we like to walk
And darkness makes us - whole -

Where ancient moorings stand unused -
The glaze reflects no hulls -
Nothing stirring but the swirls
In dreams of folded gulls -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

I read an augury in shells
Worn to naked spirals
Cast upon the shingles –
Helixes and sigils –

Questing structures – curlicues
Wrought in almost-stone –
Corkscrew relics – empty coils
Death’s remainders – strung

Along a shore by churning spume –
Their softer parts destroyed –
Ground to powder in the surge
Or augering – the sand –

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

Nine swans flew above my head
In a garrulous skein
Shuffling places as they sang
Plaintive songs - of rain -

Questing throats turned to the east
Tilting into sun
Black melodious compass blades
Here - and far - and gone -

And nothing mattered. There I stayed
Through a pathless day -
None of which was real to me -
Direction - slipped - away -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020

We never pruned the Rose - last year -
It grew - straight - through the Winter -
Gable-height - the unkempt form
It forged of Soil and Water

Like a Poem - Painting - Life
Begun - inside a Frame -
It forgot the Sketch - or Seed -
That it started - from -

So now - untrammelled - Roses bloom -
Couplets to cure Sorrow -
Dabs of Petal in the Dark
At the upstairs Window.

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

Dried blossoms thatched to make a nest
An aperture for a branch –
I found it on a sandy path
That wound up from a beach –

And where the chicks once strained their necks
And huddled down together
Fur plucked out of Banksia cones
Meticulously gathered

Made their mattress – snug as wool –
Delicate as velvet –
The nest lives on my dressing table –
Of all things – I love it

Most like a poem weaved with craft –
Its treasures safely hidden –
And though you never sailed a sea
And scarce strayed from your garden

Of anyone who ever lived
I wish that you could hold
Such exquisite artistry
In your trembling hand –

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

It sheds them in abundance –
Dropped profligate – like leaves –
Rows of pale serrations
Barbed – for stealing lives –

Some ripped out by the threshing
Some torn free and awash
Some lost in ocean canyons
Some tossed up on the beach

Arrowheads of ivory
Worn edgeless by the swell
All their powers of murder
Blunted by the squall –

And all the shark’s wild hunger
Eroded by the land –
A splinter from the Hell-mouth –
Harmless – in my Hand –

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

I learned what it was like to love
And shall expect no more -
Should you say - You are yet young -
Why, then - I must demur -

For if one love was of my life
Then curtains - it is through -
And if my life was for one love
What use have I - for two?

One thought - only - vexes me -
And there can be no balm -
Life for love - I’d gladly give -
Yet you hold me to blame.

I learned what it was like - to love -
You held back - and I yearned -
I waited for eleven years
And in the twelfth - I turned -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

Life tore me - from my moorings
And hurled me on a shore
For peace was not my harbour
Nor certainty - my share -

And nor was Life intended
For me - but for the gull -
It gave me only tempests
And shipworms in my hull -

And rammed my gunwale inward
Thrust into foreign land
And man and Life turned vandal
And choked my hatch with sand -

So while the gull untethered
Flies over me - awash
Life undermines my timbers
And Fate - swoops in to lash -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

The moment that the osprey strikes
She gambles on her strength -
A fish may equal her for weight
And vie with her for length -

Her talons - barbed - cannot withdraw
But sink into the skin
And flex and clench and wedge themselves
Deeper - deeper in.

A fish - emerging from the murk -
A wager and a wonder -
Might turn scale and plunge again
To drag an osprey under -

So sky and water may invert -
Watch - bird - what you pray -
“Provide, provide” too well affirmed
Turns predator to prey.

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

Some - like butterflies locked in dark -
Batter their imprisoned souls
Against the glassy gleam of dusk
In skylights smeared with scales -

And on the floor - snapped antennae -
Tattered shreds of wing.
Desperation to fly free
Leaves their limbs unstrung -

But never gladder - larval soul -
Are you who calm to this -
And curling inward, grow so still
You turn - to chrysalis -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

Two wagtails dance amid the rain
The lawn turned half to flood
Wafting on their open tails
Though other birds have fled –

And nothing weighs or wets them through –
They flit – as on a breath –
One wrestles worms from sodden turf
One dips and takes a bath

Emerging from the puddle sleek –
A harlequin – whose mind
Is free from all our “Thou shalt nots”
And unbesmirched – by mud –

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

They say they will slow down for you
And yet somehow – they won’t –
But forge ahead relentlessly
Like soldiers at some front –

Objectiveless – yet ever driven
Though purpose – now – is gone
And though they claim to care for you
They drag you – on – and on –

Toward a mirage that recedes –
The wraith of “happiness” –
Travailing through the wire and mud
And never stoop – to bless –

Or ever stop to watch the lark
That sings above the trench –
Obsessed with one forlorn success
Which ends in death – and stench –

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

I watched as ant confronted ant
Their compound eyes abulge
With four antennae - all aslant -
And bodies poised - to barge -

Their territories only stones -
Dimensions - but a yard -
I heard - I thought - their mortal groans
Each mandible a sword -

Yet neither soldier ever touched -
They posed - then walked away -
Perhaps they were too finely matched
To risk a mortal fray -

Or perhaps I read them wrong -
Their feelers’ semaphore
More akin to lovers’ song
Than drumstick-rolls - of war -

Go to the ant - the prophecy -
I wish that human-kind
Had half the ants’ sagacity
Or half the strength - of mind -

Poem by Giles Watson, 2020.

Listen – golden whistler –
cicadas in the haze –
peppermints a whisper
enchanting me – to doze –

awakening – in winter –
to chase the vanished call
and everywhere I wander –
human faces – cruel.

I’m gone astray – and wilder
stripped of hope – and trust –
left with only wonder
at warmth so quickly lost –

and go – a golden whistler –
voiceless in the dark
where love is but a whisper –
humanity – a Spark –

Poem by Giles Watson, 2019.

I notice a cicada nymph
latched upon the bark
escaped its skin last night –
that slit is where it broke

out into the starlit warmth,
retracting arms and claws
to flex them, hooked and finely toothed
as pliers or champing jaws,

and I have bent to tilt my world
to meet those empty eyes –
up above he strops his legs,
sucks the sap and flies –

he’s left behind this amber crisp,
jettisoned and dead:
a sculpture strangely animate
though all the life has fled –

Poem by Giles Watson, 2019.

In the Dark Eden there was no Fall -
nor was there night or day
that could be counted - it was all
stasis - no God drove us away.

In the Dark Eden there was no Death -
nor was there Earth nor Sky
nor Serpent. The primal alabaster Breath
became a Butterfly.

In the Dark Eden there was no Man
to dream of Babel’s tower -
because there was no master-plan
a Bird became a Flower.

In the Dark Eden, no Creator
cleaved us from the Tree -
nor was there anything between
the Fern - and You - and Me.

Poem by Giles Watson, 2019.

At the start are weft and warp
strung out taut and trim.
Sett and pivot leave their tartan
woven into time.

Twill weaves round the warp, and time
is touched by tone and line.
Colours cross – junctures meet –
textures intertwine –

and we are held within the weft –
contingent, incomplete –
purposeless amid the plaid
unless – perchance – we meet –

Poem by Giles Watson, 2018

I saw a spider nurse a fly
Gently into doom,
Cradled in a shroud of silk -
It quivered in a dream,

And deep in its narcotic doze
No pain could touch the fly -
Though soon its body was a shell,
Emptied, crisp and dry -

But I’ve seen human torturers
Who thrive on only hurt,
Who shroud their wakeful victims
In acid webs of hate,

Who show the spider merciful
And thrive on being despised -
I’m stunned by human cruelty -
Yet dare not be surprised.

Poem by Giles Watson, 2017.