Two poems by Oliver Leech

Rock Pool

High on a beach, circled by rocks,
foam and wave forsaken
a pool complained:

‘Cloud drones constantly survey,
gulls bomb me with shadows,
and raindrops drown in my domain
as I will too in rising tide
which is my fear,
my ever pressing fear,
that I may cease to be,
my droplets leaked and loosened
in an ocean borne diaspora
to fetch up in a gritty sink or cistern,
rich man’s fountain, favela pump,
drips in a priest’s piscine,
no semblance left of me
no culvert, dyke, canal to cup me,
no chalice glass engraved
with cherubim to hold me.’

The sun, overhearing, said:
‘If you were not so fearful,
so self-consumed and proud,
I’d send my warmth to raise you
and shape you to a cloud.’

‘In the World not of the World’

To be in the world but not of the world;
to embrace the day but not seize the day;
to stand palm upward, fingers part unfurled
and catch from heaven, let it come what may;
to hope but not expect, to love not cling;
to take delight but never be obsessed;
to own no goods but borrow everything;
to know myself a temporary guest;
to stand apart and watch the sport proceed
but find myself included in the team;
to strive with every sinew to succeed
but know the game’s as brittle as a dream;
two people but inhabiting one skin,
the player, and spectator hid within.

Oliver Leech is a retired teacher who writes poetry and philosophy, practises calligraphy and painting. He has two books of poetry, calligraphy and artwork (published by Clayhanger Press).

Lesley Gann

Winter’s Gate

Come meet with me at winter’s gate
we’ll count some bones, a tune we’ll scrape
along the branching crystal forms,
that hold beneath the daily storms
of things to do and mend and hurry,
and hurry hurry fill the space,
that longs for you at winter’s gate
where things unknown are darkly there,
awaiting time’s unfolding beat
to rise and meet the living air,
then sink beneath the daily whirl
of hurry hurry twist and turn
do not stop in case you burn
and lose yourself in living light,
or fall into the darkness bare
at winter’s gate,
I’ll meet you there.

Lesley Gann is a traditional acupuncturist who lives in Monmouth.  She is a long-time student of Beshara and the School at Chisholme House. She writes: ‘The education from the School has been the best and truest thread throughout my life, since my first introduction back in the late 70s. I’m not a scholar, but I love that this is not an education into a set of beliefs, but rather a reaching for an all-embracing perspective, ever changing and alive.’