Poem of the Month: December 2011

You were there always


carver's hands
Were you there always, hiding in the wood,
Waiting for me to gouge and scrape you out,
Just sleeping in the grain, my little bud,
So deep beneath a timber coverlet?
You emerge, still and solemn, in the light,
Of this new day, and wonder who you are,
Damp with the resin of your wooden night.
My tools are sharp, and you have travelled far
Since, a miracle of nature, you grew
Along with others and gave me shade,
Till felled and quartered, I took hold of you,
And from your ending something fresh was made.
I may have done nothing with my small art,
But conjure some life to your kindling heart.

© James Nash 2011