Postcard from Mont Blanc

These Alps are clothed with beauty,
Cloaked in glistening, sun-drenched white
And softly shadowed folds of grey;
Embroidered with rock and fir
And myriad jewelled sparkles of light.

These Alps are clothed with vastness.
They rise steep and sheer from the Chamonix Valley,
Grand, awesome, rugged, powerful, immense,
With peaks that thrust into the sky,
Vast cliffs, ridged with ribbons of snow,
Rising to a tooth point and then falling sheer away;
Cliffs aproned with whiteness of snow
And hemmed with green and snow-dusted fir.

These Alps are clothed with glory.
The sun glints blue on Glacier des Bossons;
Snow wisps and floats from high peaks,
Descends in ribbons to the valley floor
Or lies piled in great, fleecy blankets
On the high, white mountain sides.

These Alps are clothed with grandeur.
Above them all stands the most grand,
The mighty peak itself,
Mont Blanc, 4810 metres of rock and snow and cliff,
Standing like some vast sentinel
That guards, surveys and controls
This entire world of indescribable beauty,
Which itself stands imposingly vast over
The Liliputian world of the valley below.

There are mountains.

There are mountains that have no rock,

Seas that have no waves,

Darkness that is deeper

Than either night or cave.

There is a void so vast,

That the mind must wander lost,        

Chasms where the spirit plummets,

Landscapes of bitter frost,

Icy winds which chill and howl,

Forest gloom without a leaf,

Glaciers which relentlessly release

Inexorable flows of tears and grief.

Earth Music

An intricate, richly sensual tune

This tactile, perfumed earth sings

And to the song of sun, sea and moon

All creation its own harmony brings.

The lover sun holds earth in his arms,

The insatiable sea caresses the shore,

The night is besotted by the moon’s charms

And everywhere is the cry for more.

Flowers willingly open for honey bees,

Clouds are the vaporous water’s embrace,

And with earth and sea the insistent breeze

Changingly communes as if face to face.

Thus every creature is entranced

By the music that around them flows

And caught up in this harmony dance

Patterns each intuitively knows.

All these are creatures of the dust

Caught in earth’s scent and song,

Singing and dancing in the way they must

Patterns of desire to which they belong.

Whether in stealth, danger or death,

In grace, beauty or fluttering need,

In savagery or urgent stress,

All fill earth’s rich symphony of seed.

So you and I, who smell the perfumed air,

Are caught and enfolded by this song

And to its great pattern and desire

Our lives in close union belong.

The sounds ringing with rich complexity

Melody upon melody entwine,

And tenderness, love and fidelity

In its high, clear, pure notes shine.

O my love, I in this great world stand

Surrounded by rich music of life,

Sustained in spirit, heart, mind and hand

By you – my partner, joy, soul mate and wife.

When upon the world of men I think

When upon the world of men I think,

Its tender love, its lust for power,

A disturbing, mingled cup I drink

With tastes both sweet and bitterly sour.

A child’s laughter, whilst joy most bright,

Is lost in the staccato burst of gun

And innocence is damaged by the blight

Of injustice and gain corruptly won.

Then dark thoughts oppress and sadden,

That we who on this blue planet live,

Each other so callously burden

Taking much more than we ever give.

The horror of sharing this miracle of life

And wasting it in division and murderous strife.

The Gift.

I have laboured on this my gift to you.

I hope you will love it and delight

In its great, wide, blue and beautiful sky,

Its grandeur of studded velvet night,

The mysterious trackless expanse of sea,

The surf that surges upon the sand,

The billowing blue black of tumbling cloud,

The fall of healing rain upon the land.

I have laboured on this my gift to you.

And entrust into your care

A teeming abundance of sentient things,

Creatures with whom this gift you share:

Colourful birds that float, flit or soar;

Dolphins that play in the surging wave;

The diligent ant, the lion’s great roar;

Bats that pour from darkness of cave.

I have laboured on this my gift to you:

Fruit that hangs from the boughs of trees,

Moss covered rock, dew laden fern,

Seed that floats on the scattering breeze,

Towering trees that in thick rainforest grow,

Flowers for beauty and the honey bee,

Tendrils that emerge from the mountain snow,

Forests that sway and grow beneath the sea.

Thank you.

Yes, it is indeed very beautiful.

And here is what we will do.

We will grasp it to ourselves.

We will fight over the largest share.

We will invent weapons to enforce our will.

We will eliminate species in our rush for gain.

Billions will die in this quest for more.

We will burrow deep into its core,

Level mountains, gouge huge holes,

Burn whole continents of forests,

Pour our waste into the ocean, pollute the sky

In our reckless, insatiable quest for more.

We will pursue knowledge

In our own limited, blinkered way

Until finally, puffed up by pride and conceit,

We will deny that you have ever existed

For we will be too advanced to need you anymore.

But perhaps, just perhaps,

When a merciless sun relentlessly shines,

The polar caps melt, the sea rises,

When in stifling heat we struggle and gasp for breath,

When our numbers have grown beyond our control

When we have plundered so deeply that it seems there is no more-

At that time we will feel small, vulnerable and human,

When problems beyond our ken in bewilderment mount,

When the future seems bleak, hopeless and lost,

And in sad desperation we will then cry out to you.

Will you then hear our voice?