Beautiful Creatures...

It's a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds' cries;
I never hear the west wind but tears are in my eyes.
For it comes from the west lands, the old brown hills,
And April's in the west wind, and daffodils.

(The West Wind-John Masefield).





Twilight.
Red in the West.
Dimness.
A glow on the wood.
The teams plod home to rest.
The wild duck come to glean.
O souls not understood,
What a wild cry in the pool;
What things have the farm ducks seen
That they cry so--huddle and cry?
Only the soul that goes.
Eager. Eager. Flying.
Over the globe of the moon,
Over the wood that glows.
Wings linked.
Necks a-strain,
A rush and a wild crying.
A cry of the long pain
In the reeds of a steel lagoon,
In a land that no man knows.

(The Wild Duck-John Masefield).

What is this creature, Music, save the Art,

The Rhythm that the planets journey by?

The living Sun-Ray entering the heart,

Touching the Life with that which cannot die?

(Where does the Uttered Music Go?-John Masefield).

Just some photos from backpacking around the East Coast of Australia...and some of the wonderful poetry of John Edward Masefield, an English Poet and Writer: 01/06/1878-12/05/1967.

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,

And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,

And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

(Sea Fever- John Masefield.)

Out beyond the sunset, could I but find the way,

Is a sleepy blue laguna which widens to a bay,

And there's the Blessed City -- so the sailors say --

The Golden City of St. Mary.

(The Golden City of St. Mary-John Masefield).