Uncertain how old we will be
when the turning is complete,
how old the earth is now
or ever will be.
How old the roads
that carve the land
or inner paths
we’ve travelled?
We all journey
the mortal way
and though not together
the ancient river
says we are,
that we walk and walk
again and again,
and no one knows
how old.

Reading of “How Old” with music by Norm Smookler

The ebbing tide rushes south
with the lonesome sound of stirring geese,
the sway of high firs in a soft breeze.
The living world breathes in light,
exhales with the sound of wind
as the green land rises
from spring fed ground.
I pile stones to mark the morning,
a cairn of reverence beside the tideline
offering prayers for all
with footsteps gently covered
by the searching sea.

Reading of “Footsteps Gently Covered” with music by Nicolas Jaar

After the sun went down
the poetic champions descended
from the forested hills
to the stony point jutting into the sea.
Sirius blazed overhead
as did Arcturus, the stars of Orion
and the great Bear.
The champions had gathered
for the moonrise
and as the earth slowly revolved
a bulb of illumination grew in the east
until with pale brilliance
the globe of the Moon
shone bright across the water.
They traded verses
in the moonlit night,
enjoying their complement
to the star crossed heaven
as they sang and chanted
to praise the ancient
and inspire the unborn,
bearing their gifts
for the billowing deep.
They sang the songlines
that hold the world together
despite the fears of the unknown.
As the Moon rose in the sky
and the star wheel turned
they departed for the forest
and high inland mountains
leaving behind
the music of words
captured in stone
and borne upon the sea.

Reading of “Poetic Champions” with music by Van Morrison

Cold comes the morning
with clouded skies and gray seas;
birds taking shelter
as winds increase,
night’s disturbance
spilling over into the day.
The earth healing
with wind and rain,
calling from sea depth
and high mountain
to bridge these times of chaos
left by the absent ones.
I struggle with fault lines,
finding my way
from the troubled shore,
cleaving to paths
of shattered stone
to where light rises,
finding rest in the heights
where eagles perch
and the broad sea opens.

Reading “Paths of Shattered Stone” with music by Sting