Category Archives: Landscape of Love

Landscape of Love 92: Dual Carriageway

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You going to A and I to B, and each in a rush to be at the other’s leaving. Do we storm like juggernauts over the road, juddering the macadam crust? Or like snails, softly gliding over shell, brushing against mollusc flesh, one of us raising our shell politely whilst the other tiptoes its tyres upside-down along the risky underneath? Do we trouble to see the world upside down for the sake of another’s easy passage, or only deal with the surface? Is what stands beside us a blur, whirring past, gone before it’s noticed, faster than the speed of retina? Or do we make sure to smell the blooms and cock our heads to the buzzing within them, catching glimpses of glory and blue-tailed flies?

Text and photo © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2016

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Landscape of Love 91: Grotto

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Pale blue lady, aqua mantled, kindness gazing out from your alabaster face, carved deep into the rock and our hurting souls. You smile, and the world is changed. Adoring the love on your dappled skin, ripples of reflected grace, the water feels less cold somehow, though we are up to our necks; and the tide is of no concern, merely the sea breathing: in and out, in and out. A caverned womb of healing, where we might be knit together once more, and our stretched sinews feel the call to entwine and relax. We go under and rise again, replenished by the carrier of living water.

© Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2016

Photo from Pixabay

 

Landscape of Love 90: Circus

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The plates spin and the sweat beads on the brow under the harsh yet inadequate lighting. The speed of each circle on its axis all within a greater ring, enclosed and concentrated, the fear, the tension, the potential for ceramic disaster feeds contagion, and the audience all hold plastic chair edges with clammy curled fingers. To one side of this manufactured solar system, something star-like catches my eye, bright Middle Eastern warmth clothed in white. Up, out of my seat, flown to in outrageous love and melded with, heart to heart. Everything else flung to the purgatory of periphery. Here is the centrifugal force pinpointed, centred, begun. Here is the life-changing, heart singing, joy-giver. Here is the main attraction and the ringmaster, in whom all things hold together. Knock those plates flying! Come as partying Greeks and dash them to the ground! Spin and struggle and juggle no more! Hold fast only to the one thing that matters and be love, oh be love!

 

© Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2016

Photo from Pixabay

 

Landscape of Love: Folly

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An act of madness in the garden, abrupt and incongruent. Marble eccentricity erupting from the ground, an overflow from the sewers of sanity. Freedom from the Victorian constricted neatness, the sculpted hedges, the perfect maze, an escape from the yellow wallpaper and the flock velvet. This icon of silliness, standing in proud dilapidation, a stone handlebar moustache from another age, somewhere to stop and have tea with a hatter and ponder the wonders of bygone bonkersness and an upside down kingdom, where disciples are found in trees and saviours in stables.

© Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2016

Photo from Pixabay

 

Landscape of Love: Temple

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A roof of sky upheld by babbling Babel columns, their ends curled over into Doric swirls, like out-of- reach cinnamon buns, or unruly Grecian ringlets. Parthenon now standing open to the elements, pagoda green-roofed and tiled with Turkish slipper corners, or the one remaining wailing wall and the courtyard: empty but still bustling with the echoes of chords, both whipped and sung, the deep voices thrumming and the strange Jewish rabbi furiously whirling like a processional David, pent up expression dancing its way across the stone slabs, robe ribboning, decorum long flown, chased doves flapping up into the air, a forehead with beads of holy sweat caught glistening globes in the last rays of sun as true prayer finally finds its way home.

© Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2016

Photo from Pixabay

 

Landscape of Love: Drawbridge

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Today the word is barricade. The chains will groan and gripe as the links grind against one another, but the bridge will still rise and leave behind a gaping unassailable leap. Under the no-longer-there- road, the fish will swim to the cool shadow and find it gone, moving on, back to the edges and the reed banks further along. Perhaps those eyeing up our castle will now not relish a siege and also pass on through. We are safe inside, and the stores are plentiful. But later, when the winter comes, and the moat freezes, shall we find comfort in these dark stones? Shall our father give us bread instead? Mightn’t we still venture out into the daylight atop the towers, blinking and ready for renewal? Hope leaves its seeds everywhere, and life grows through cracks in rock. Light will always be waiting to return, and when we have had our fill of self and solitude, the old oak timbers may crash back down, and the world become once more our cloister.

© Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2016

Photo from Pixabay

N.B. Once a week I will be returning to The Landscape of Love as a break from the Veil of Tears which can be quite a tough read (and write!) And hopefully to help keep my poetic prose flowing.

 

200: End of Year 3

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So, dear and faithful readers, here we are again at the end of my blogging year. I first began on 2nd April 2013, writing snippets of wisdom and seeings that the Lord gave me. Those are now being collated into a book of 365 daily devotionals called “Manna from Heaven.” Year two gave us “The Garden of God’s Heart,” a set of poetic meditations.

During year three, my health took a downturn, and with that and family problems, I did not manage to write or post every day. Still though, 200 posts in a year is not so shabby, and this last year has given us 111 fables, which I will make into a collection called “Telling Tales,” and 86 pieces under the theme “Landscape of Love” which I may well continue with. But this coming year will bring something different, the Lord impressing upon me a desire to share a Bible verse a day, with a few thoughts. My thoughts being what they are, it may not be an exactly conventional journey….. but then, if you have stuck with me this far, you already know to expect something a little different…

Thank you for your likes, your shares, your comments and your followings. It means a great deal to me to know that people enjoy my writing, and that there is a demand for pieces that don’t sit well in the mould. Edges were made to overflow, and literary rules for breaking.

God bless you all, see you tomorrow for a new adventure!

Keren

199: Inn

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Jamaican rum rattles on the mahogany, polished clean by sailors’ elbows. Here shines a welcome light, a home from home, a pleasing gloaming in the night for the sore-footed and the weary. A thirst-quenching tableau, a swinging saving sign, the old Ben’s Admiral bowed over his maps. A place for sitting in cosy corners, plotting courses and rousing rabbles and making and breaking plans. All mouth and no trousers by the time the bell sounds the end of your libertine libations and sends you all scuttling across the cobbles, laughing too loud, earning frowns and night-gowned tuts, and falling into a guttered sleep too deep for dreaming.

 

© Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2016

Photo from morguefile.com

 

198: Lighthouse

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Beaming out, no bushel to hide under here, the naked bulb streaming your light into the darkness of tumbling waves and crashing blackness. Breakers splashing caught in the brightness for an instant, like onyx or flint, cracked and crenelated edges gleaming. And so alone, lone you stand, and sometimes do you wonder if the pay is worth it? And you close your eyes and remember the saturating, drowning hubbub of the city, and realise it is you who has been saved, sat tight in your ivory tower, hoping fervently no shipwrecked prince will come to rescue you.

 

© Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2016

Photo from morguefile.com

197: Tower

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Reaching so far, beyond sight, into blinding clouds, and did you think of the ending before you began? No, for the common parlance meant there were no barriers to your thoughtless dreaming and no time to consider consequences. And thank God, then, that he broke up the party and framed new tongues so that splitting the atom at the centre of everything and deciding that I AM was NO MORE might take long enough to let mercy and truth unfold in our hearts.

 

© Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2016

Photo from morguefile.com