Michael Dresser – Poetry & Art

Kick off the stumbling blocks that weight your feet;

Walk barefoot over

Cool grass, rough brush, sharp stone,

Until your soles talk to the earth.

Shed the stifling skins that bind your body;

Run naked through

The hot sun, warm wind, wild air

Until you know no other way to feel.

Break the bonds that gag your heart;

Explore the truth of love for

One night, one year, one lifetime,

Until you understand

There are

No rules.

When you are running

Wild and free and fierce and loud:

Do not forget

The ones who loved you

Quietly and steadily,

So that your spirit might grow

Tall and strong and proud.

Red squirrel runs the staircase of a tree,

And scatters water drops of flashing gems;

Coppergold the autumn hedgerow glows,

As sun sets fire to charcoal crimson stems.

I stop to watch the clouds catch light in flaming pyre,

Stay to hear the wind and rooks in twilight choir,

And, as these voices join with mine,

Together now we sing this silent song of time.

Why fix your eyes in front,

Below,

So fearful of your feet…

Look up,

Above you

There is so much sky.

To feel the rough brush of long grass against the sole of your foot.

To feel the cold, wet cling of cloth to ankle.

To taste the mist-rain on your tongue,

To breathe it in and let the earthy dampness fill your lungs.

To catch the distant dog’s sharp bark

Echo through the meadow as he outruns care.

To feel the buried thud of your heart in the sudden silence,

As the reeds pause in their whisper.

To feel this much

Is to know you are alive.

This world is my temple:

The birdsong is my plainsong,

The sunlight is my healing balm.

My sacred texts are written in,

Are hidden in,

The ancient rings of trees;

My mantras are the whisper of their leaves,

The roaring surf,

The humming of the bees.

This world is my temple:

Perfumed by the incense of a rose,

Or a meal cooked with love;

The cathedrals of the caves, the vaulted forest pillars

Are my hallowed places,

Spaces I can breathe.

For there I have no need to pray

Each day

I simply need to be.

One thing I have learned:

One day will come a time to leave.

Do not wish it here,

Do not be sad before it comes.

And when you move,

Move on

Do not be sad for what is gone.

One day, when all your here

Exists no longer there,

The breath you took

The words you spoke

Will disappear

Like smoke

Evaporating

In the early morning air.

Dreams made of this misty mountain precipice,

Bones from crags in rolling granite skies;

Deep as lochs your eyes,

And sure as rock your hand.

Your language speaks of London, New York, Tokyo,

But, aye, that city slick cannot deter

Your gorse and heather burr

Where continents are spanned.

So breathe these rarefied and ancient highland airs,

Fill your pipes with music of your heart,

Set your feet apart,

Fearless where you stand.

Man of this land.

Scot.

Land.