THE BURNT RICE PAN

Apologies for the lack of a post last week. I had forgotten how all absorbing moving house is and being in the midst of unpacking the days went by unheeded. That could be the first line of a poem...
Last Saturday evening I had one of those brief moments of illumination. I was washing up, late at night, after everyone else was in bed and as I picked up the rice pan the water in it swirled, for one second it felt like the whole of reality turned around that pan.

the water

in the burnt rice pan

turns

swirls

returns

and

in

that

precise 

instant

becomes

the axis of the universe

I welcome those moments of other worldly awareness. I think William Blake was correct when he urged people to cleanse the doors of perception. What a prophet the man was.
The end of last year I was travelling on the train from Totnes to Taunton one Saturday morning and marvelling at the beauty of the seascape. I wrote this:

train travel in Devon

a winter morning estuary

grey tidal flats

the still water

tight fisted mercury

unwilling to spend

more than a farthing's reflection

who would want to be anywhere else?

I saw Martha Tilston last Friday evening. She was superb as ever. Here is Stags Bellow.

I have a guest post for next Tuesday. Sarah Helton has been kind enough to write about her new book.
Until then.