Ripples – 17th September 1994

Chuga-chug-a, weee, neeeerrrr!
The noisy breath of our transport,
a bicycle made for two (but only just!),
tackling long straight roads
lined with eucalyptus and lime trees,
swishing in the wind of dusty old lorries,
up and around, twisting roadways,
over the next brief, brown, barren mountain,
at the crest and into the wow of the valley,
lays at our feet, begs our descent,
come see, come see!

But we know there’s nothing more than dried out dust,
white stones, sunwashed white
and yellow cactus plants a-plenty
though some valleys hold green groves of growth,
desperate for water – come flow from the seven springs,
the gift of life,
make your rocky way
so odd to see big tall trees
pointing to the sun with accusatory finger,
a hand in the air!
Look at me, I’m alive!

Onward we go, whirring along
til next top summited and wow!
Our life, miles view down to sea green bay, to our left,
such bright comparison to the rubble hills of dust and stone
but across this valley and up into the hills,
distant on the hazy horizon, up and then wow! again,
ancient acropolis stands ruined but magnificient
above white brick town,
populated by tourists of old Greek ladies,
witch-like by our cultural standards,
selling lace under trees, cutting up beans,
‘is cheap, is very good, you buy 5000, ok 4000!’

and from high place we spectate out
thousands of miles across blue ocean misty
where sky meets water,
waves crash far below our castle lookout
onto rocks, craggy, brown and black,
this ancient temple, time-battered, sun weary,
still majestic in it’s brown piles of stone,
sun beats down, never raising or waiting
for cool breath to dry sweat from eyes.

The town bustles busily on foot, no roads here,
park at the square and all buildings encroach,
small walkways like old English mazes back home.
Back again, and away from sad tourists (yes, I know!)
via old roads and real Greek villages
where dead cats lay strewn by the road,
bamboo grows along in the lime groves in the valley,
while rock tops look at us tony specks down below,
so, to the beach,
yes, that’s what we’re here for!

Heads down, dive in, cool and slow this beach,
a real paradise, soft sands under our feet,
calm waves lap our bodies as those mountain look still,
cliff top monastery proud white,
set against the deepest azure,
as lush green trees feed the black goats,
all up the side ’til here turns to sand
for our greatest of pleasures, flowing,
lost in time and space, water overwhelms our senses,
like a cool glove, fit tight on your fingers,
like the most gorgeous ice cream and cool draft beer
at a bar found in the desert, no illusion, but reality,
it hits us and we smile for no reason, broad beams,
inside ourselves,
we know.

We wash out the sun in the pool,
let darkness shroud over us
like a blanket of grey haze.
A half moon hangs half across the night,
a hole in the blanket,
almost yellow, the ferocity of the sun on its face.
It’s cool reflection here on Earth
touching tips of sea ripples directly below.
Imitating the sun, but on low power.
Each ripple, made of drops of water
that have played in the ocean since time began.
Each ripple sent from the other side of the Earth,
cause and effect, on an endless journey, gyroscope-like.
Each ripple a mind soothed, a heart stolen.
Each ripple aches and bows, wave forming,
charging towards the terra,
crashing in the silence when there’s no one to hear,
us asleep under thin white sheets
dreaming about brand new days
which soon come with the sun and the heat
invading each pore, each corner touched
by the light of the morning,
smacking that weary head,
‘Here I am, get up and face me if you dare!’

Now in full shimmer effect on the blue waters
made crystal, twinkle like diamonds
multi-fractured mirror
in God’s old kaleidoscope.