A Secret Salvation

Monday morning wet
in the window-framed garden,
a new pup asleep on my shoulder,
her nose on my thoughts, as I
tap away on a laptop, iPod
playing, the would be poet.

Debussy hovers over the keyboard
as I try to craft honest lines.
I open the window and my
thoughts fly up to the dark peak
and the snake’s pass, where
Kinder Scout receives the clouds’
grace with limestone joy.
Watering the valley where my
house perches as a heron rises,
spreading his wings over the
ruined works where men ground iron.

The pup stirs, the track changes,
the swan’s lake trembles, violins
then a single oboe sweeps a curved
neck’s slender whiteness towards the city,
where horns blare at the commuters.

Meanwhile, in my writer’s basement
the music ends, leaving silence brushed
with the edges of birdsong. Now audible,
the clock marks time and motion,
the grafter’s mockery of the slow
writer. Poets – what use are they when
so many grapple with the hard world?

But poetry is a pension fund against
the stealthy shadow, waking you
in the dark demanding,
‘What are you here for?’

So in that same darkness I pull
myself apart and in this morning
attempt to give form to things
unspeakable, to record the speckles
of birdsong, with a poet’s faith
that this Monday morning has a
secret salvation – if only I could write it.

From ‘The Call Of The Unwritten’ available on Amazon.co.uk

Poet and Writer

As the rain pours down out of the heavy Sheffield sky and local events, hoping for a summer are cancelled, I sit tapping away at this post for my new blog.

It is my hope to post here periodically with reflections on life as I know it.

With a poet’s faith that here is something worth reading.

It is also my hope to offer those who read some connection that allows them to see things differently.

Not that I want agreement or approbation just reaction.

As a poet and a writer much of my time is spent in a type of hemitry ( a word I have just coined according to the spell check).

That is I produce in isolation and await the publishing and then the reaction to my work.

This is a way of saying things that may produce a visible reaction and even dialogue.

In that spirit welcome to my blog and I look forward, with a poet’s faith, to conversing.

Adrian

Written by Adrian G R Scott

Adrian G R Scott lives in the Rivelin Valley, Sheffield, he is a poet , writer and amateur photographer. For more www.adriangrscott.com He has studied theology, organisation development and is now working on a PhD in English and Creative Writing at Sheffield University. He has written two books of poetry, one of prose and edited a collection of Poetry by the two writing groups he facilitates. After suffering a breakdown in 2014 he has undergone Jungian Analysis for the last two years. He also facilitates Rites of Passage for men and is fascinated by the stories and poetry that come from holy scriptures, fairy tales and other major world religions. He is especially interested in how we find our way through the world with the help of such stories and poems. ​ His books are available at Buy Books

4 comments

  1. “Silver must be purified before it can be made into anything of value” the Proverbs say, I sense your own ‘smithing’ is progressing apace. Silver flows from Steel City, and begins to turn golden. (See, you’ve got me at it now!). Blessings on your craft my friend, and keep the faith, it’s well founded.

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