Thursday, November 20, 2008

Its whispered gift

The Sacred Way


Sacred, sacrosanct, sanctuary
In the ruins of what was sacred space that we need back:

These monoliths to moon and sun remind us
That we abandoned the stars to ourselves, only to find
That we have no rite for being human

But now as the breeze stirs, and we slow our steps
Where stone breathes we can receive its whispered gift again

Jay Ramsay

From his longer poem The Sacred Way

Saturday, November 01, 2008

Secret as the thoughts of God

All sunlit was the earth I trod

All sunlit was the earth I trod,
The heavens were frankest blue;
But secret as the thoughts of God
The stones of Stanton Drew.

Sir William Watson (1858-1935)