You light me up
I only see
Your eyes
You give me everything
Sun stars a field trees
Fire birds and gentle bees
You change the colour of the day
With everything you say
~You know ~
The spell you put on me
is in the charm you give
dancing light on everything
Through threads strings
and flying things
Lines~
A drum!
Always out of time.
Like a precious jewel
Always there somewhere!
Gill McGrath©
November 5th evening 5.30pm. Moon in the field where the sun will come up tomorrow but setting in full glow now before fireworks start in the dark at 6.30pm in the rabbit field further along the road!
Gill McGrath 
I read your about and traveling to London on the bus and I remembered when I left Aust to go to Europe 40 years ago a colleague said “Give London a second chance” I didn’t know what he meant at first. So we went to Scotland and when we got back to London I knew. What a place to come home to. I’d like you to look at “The baby wouldn’t sleep” One of my very earliest posts.
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Thank you suchled, for sharing your link to your beautiful post with me here. I have replied directly to your post in your blog, but I also reply here. It is a beautiful gift indeed that you and your sweet baby found the warmth of humanity in the London Underground that night. The words and experience resonate still after all those years in your lines….especially the baby smile you have kept! London (usually depicted as a troubled place) has so much memory and beautiful gifts and time in its walls lingering behind,waiting to wake, so much comforting magic still in the cracks sometimes right there in front of you, always good company. No need to speak the same. It sounds the same. Feels the same. Always there….. and here in an underground carriage! 🙂
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I am so glad you liked it. As soon as I read your “about” page I knew you would.
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wonderful
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And I hope you like France, because I did.
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Good morning….this is beautiful:)
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Heh there Janet. Good morning to you. And thanks for ‘beautiful’. The moon dictates over there!:)
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seems you sometimes visit Beulah – Blake’s “soft Moony Universe feminine lovely ”
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Seems so on reflection! But no! It’s not my fault the moon turns up where I walk! Blake frightens me a little. No a lot. I don’t like his art and really do not know much of his poetry. ’Songs of innocence and experience’ is far as I go with him; only because I once did a group art show by that name. I was more influenced by Rembrandt and Michelangelo (not literally as good as them mark you!) but I produced canvases with titles like the last pieta now hanging high in some other place ( plus one of the series wrapped up unseen miserably in a dark place!) Rembrandt never left me though. His light in the dark is the thing with me.
However in order to attempt to reply to you intelligently on a subject I know nothing of…. Blake’s poetry…. to be honest …. I quickly had to scan wiki. Now something amazing has happened. He may have touched or even spoken to one of my ancestors!.
I do my family history upwards and width wise. The direct line on my father’s side goes back generations; actually through the very bowels of London. For about 200 years during the 18th and 19th century ( Battersea by the 20th) his forbears were all in and around Broadwick Street (was Broad Street) Soho in a house (apartment) next to the original water pump which Snow switched off in one swipe, blaming it as the source of a cholera epidemic. My lot were living right by the pump at the time and I always imagine, to my shame, it was one of my own grandmothers who may have been washing nappies at the said pump infecting the water and who may have served to spread the epidemic! The family survived as they were not much into drinking water, by the way! Gradually, to my amusement I have discovered that as the family married and spread in all directions one lived near Dicken’s offices, and another was a boot maker and neighbour to a friend of Darwin ( as seen in letters of the same period) and who may have mended their shoes just then!
Through the generations various big shots of the time have shared nearly the same address as my lot. One such was Blake’s own family at number 28 while mine were obviously all boozing at number 40 Broad Street, getting ready to survive malefaction.
As far as being famous, my lot were more infamous than famous…. small time swells, boxers and criminals, well documented. Reading poetry has very little place for me where I am at the moment in the various shock waves of new discoveries. So the moon has to grab me from time to time. And it does!
Apologies for this ramble Laura ❤
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Overwhelmingly fascinating reply Gill and these experiences resonate quite a bit with Blake’s views of mankind’s place in the universe …
” What is the price of Experience? do men buy it for a song
Or wisdom for a dance in the street? No it is bought with the price
Of all that a man hath, his house his wife his children.
Wisdom is sold in the desolate market where none come to buy
And in the witherd field where the farmer plows for bread in vain”
Will think of you next time I pass Snow’s noisome pump! Laura x
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