Just back from Liverpool where I came across this beautiful painting, 'The Falling Star', by James Hamilton Hay in the Walker Gallery. It's so understated, there are myriad possibilities in the empty spaces of sky and earth, the stories it evokes are, well, just follow the star!
The painting has stuck in my head, I had to write a poem. The obvious pitfall is not being able to match the magic, but hell, I had to give it a try. Here's my effort, if any reader fancies giving it a go. I'll be delighted to include it on the blog, but honest efforts only.
The Falling Star
Half asleep, and tucked cosy under the innocence of snow,
our village on the
brow of the hill, beneath the vast
pillowed ceiling of
a sky dusty with the white fields’ glow;
here and there fuzzy
chinks of light: stars.
Our houses, heads
above the duvet; the two lit windows, eyes
unshut. All
tipped towards dreaming; that great expanse
above the heads
pathless for wanderers; the falling star, key
to infinity for
dreamers.
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