THE BEGINNER

Oh, to be spring again, 
arriving in a world
wet, green, and electric. 
To throw yourself
at the unknown,
to stand on new legs
in a wide field,
wobbly, but there.
To know nothing of the world 
but what you encounter
each moment,
to have only instinct,
no default—
what a thrill!
What a thrill to be new
over and over
in one life.

~~~

from The Land Will Hold You (2022)
(birdsong courtesy of the dawn chorus, recorded in my garden)

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The Land Will Hold You

The Beginner

Buy the book

WHEN THE WEB BREAKS

When the web breaks,
when the threads, pulled too taut, 
thin and thin,

when they can hold no more, 
when they let go, resisting nothing, 
and sigh, relieved

what was full, empties,
what was sure, becomes a question, 
what was finished
begins again.

~~~

from The Land Will Hold You (2022)
(birdsong courtesy of the dawn chorus, recorded in my garden)

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When The Web Breaks

TEND

I gather fallen limbs,
handle brittle lichened bones 
with reverence,
returning them
to the base of their tree.
It is a privilege to warm the cloth, 
to clean the hands of a child,
to wipe the face of a loved one 
who can no longer.
I tend to the dying tree
knowing one day
this will be me.
When I cannot
hold the spoon to my own mouth, 
when the soup spills,
when I am spilling over
and my body no longer
contains me,
may someone hold me,
hold the cup to my lips,
hold the paper to my pen,
hold me while I fall.

~~~

from The Land Will Hold You (2022)
(birdsong courtesy of the dawn chorus, recorded in my garden)

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Tend

SUPPLE

An east wind blows
and it is not so much ill, as interesting, 
creating fresh garden shapes, 
revealing new vistas.

There’s something different about you
I call to the trees, 
as if to a friend 
who cut her hair.

Branches sweep up and over, 
leaves reveal their underside, 
the whole garden bows,
as if honouring some new truth.

The world looks awry.
There is sky in new places,
curves of hill I’ve never seen before. 
Whatever you’ve done, I like it!

Strange winds blow from time to time, 
turning us to face the unseen,
new places, new horizons,
how supple we are as we bend.

~~~

from The Land Will Hold You (2022)
(birdsong courtesy of the dawn chorus, recorded in my garden)

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Supple

SPRING SONG

The first lines of spring
are now long forgotten,
hidden in the blinding green,
lost in the flurry of life’s business. 
The first daffodil,
kingfisher call,
thick leaf buds,
all gone.
The first day without fire, 
without cardigan, shoes,
folded away
in the envelope
marked spring.

Page two reads
clover up to the knee, 
a racket of birds, 
everything speckled, 
unfurling.
First roses, 
lilac-scented wind, 
blossom fall.
The cuckoo is back, 
the rhubarb up,
the hedgehog is awake 
and stretching
and still spring writes on, 
pages three, four and more, 
shedding parchment
like petals, 
like leaves.

~~~

from The Land Will Hold You (2022)
(birdsong courtesy of the dawn chorus, recorded in my garden)

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Spring Song

FEATHERS

Each day I tread the same worn path, 
though no bird flies over the same way twice, 
the bees attend different flowers,
cicadas sing where yesterday there were none 
and the hawk is scanning new trees.

A feather lies in wait for me,
having fallen from the sky.
No other will fall in quite the same way, 
from that height to this spot
to be caught between two heads of rye. 
The land looks the same
but is different in a thousand small ways.

We can think one day is much like another, 
that we still are who we were before.
Or we can let ourselves be changed.
What looks familiar is not.
We are as new as the world we see. 
Be delighted, be surprised.
Expect feathers

~~~

from The Land Will Hold You (2022)
(birdsong courtesy of the dawn chorus, recorded in my garden)

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Feathers

WHEN BUSY

The hawk spins on one wing
like a skater on ice, inviting me to look.
The kereru whistles past my window
and fondly turns its head to see if I am watching. 
I am not. I am lost.

A lamb is crying day and night. 
Blackbirds face off in the stalls, 
clicking their beaks,
banging breasts in mid-air
like stags in heat.

What could matter more than this?
This parade of spring, this string of moments 
rising like pockets of air to the surface of a lake? 
Where am I if not here to see this happen? 
Where is it we go, and why?

I slip out the door.
The grass greets me like a friend.
A quail uncoils its song for me.
The hawk spins again in case I missed it.

~~~

from The Land Will Hold You (2022)
(birdsong courtesy of the dawn chorus, recorded in my garden)

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When Busy

SOLSTICE

On your darkest day,
your shadow long on the ground, 
despair running full length, 
depths scraped bare,
lungs desperate
for air, remember

the deepest point of winter 
is the shortest stop of all. 
It is but a moment,
an axis on which
your spring 
and autumn 
turn.

Feel for the point
of your longest night, 
trace every shadow, 
look for the place 
where shadow retreats 
and upswing begins.

~~~

from The Land Will Hold You (2022)
(birdsong courtesy of the dawn chorus, recorded in my garden)

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Solstice

WALK GENTLY

Slow down.
Press lightly with your feet.
Shoes on, shoes off, it doesn’t matter. 
The land just wants to hold you.

Feel the air
brush your cheeks as you go, 
welcoming your breath, 
folding it back into itself

even as it rushes to fill you again, 
settling in the cup of your ear,
in the space between lashes, 
running, like a hand, over your hair.

~~~

from The Land Will Hold You (2022)
(birdsong courtesy of the dawn chorus, recorded in my garden)

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Walk Gently

THE ANSWER

The trees have nothing to say, and the ryegrass is mute. Below me, the creek speaks only to the mudfish, the watercress, the dragonfly nymph.

This ladybird crossing the back of my hand could be heralding good wishes or taking the direct route home. Either way, it does not say.

And who knows what the stones are doing. This one here I nudge with my boot. This greywacke stone—wrenched from the ground, split, tumbled, and left to lie—it has seen it all and is the least likely to tell.

Still, I listen. I strain my ears until the tendons in my neck are strung like wire. Something could burst. How do we live with silence? Glad, but unanswered, is one way. It could be enough.

Yet, right now aren’t people all over giving thanks for what they read in the water and the wind-bent pines? Aren’t I sunning myself, closed-eyed on this mossed trunk, moved to name the sounds I cannot hear?

Didn’t I stand here two nights ago, head thrown back to see the crescent moon, Jupiter hanging from its lip as if from a string, as if falling from the moon’s cup; the night air settling on my face and a heron flying over me, stitching me into this place yet again?

You love this place and your small part in it. Silence one day, the next, your name carved in the trunk of its tree like a lover.

~~~

from The Land Will Hold You (2022)
(birdsong courtesy of the dawn chorus, recorded in my garden)

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The Answer

THE FOREST

There is no substitute
for feeling what calls to be felt, 
no shortcut through the forest.

Each tree an experience,
each interaction, its own fall of light, 
the ground itself littered with things 
that ask to be known by name.

It’s not just loss
that hides in the undergrowth, but joy, 
and suppressed and dampened hopes.

The forest is alive with all that you are. 
Hush now, listen.

~~~

from The Land Will Hold You (2022)
(birdsong courtesy of the dawn chorus, recorded in my garden)

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The Forest

THE BROKEN AND THE WHOLE
To be able to swallow the broken
we must feast on what is still whole— 
taste the air, not just gulp it,
enjoy the apple-scented rose
having its strange winter flush, 
savour a childish delight in mud 
even as the waters rise.

For every fear, allow pleasure, 
a heedless, senseless pleasure 
in whatever it is you love. 
Revel in the certainties—
the rising sun,
the moon pulling the tides, 
the ones you love
and are loved by.

Allow joy and worry in equal measure, 
and keep the proportions in check.
A cook knows to double all parts
not just some—
as much liquid as dry,
extra sweet to balance the salt— 
a widened pan to hold it all,
the broken and the whole.

~~~

from The Land Will Hold You (2022)
(birdsong courtesy of the dawn chorus, recorded in my garden)

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The Broken And The Whole

ON THE FIRST WARM DAY

Take off your shoes,
hang out the sheets,
see the snow on the mountain, melting. 
The blades of grass bow down
for your feet,
the damp earth
gives as you walk.
See the air catch the blanket, billow 
and settle. Lie down.

Let the newborn sun warm your cheek, 
watch the honeybees move
from flower to flower
quilting the lawn.
Brush the thyme, hot and stony, 
promising summer,
the geranium, thick with rose, 
clove and pepper.

Suspended in the tree
is a clutch of blue eggs
and the lilac is in bud.
Take the sheets from the line, 
breeze in their fibres,
eat the sweet grass,
pocket the leaf,
press spring into every fold.

~~~

from The Land Will Hold You (2022)
(birdsong courtesy of the dawn chorus, recorded in my garden)

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On The First Warm Day

RAIN

I know you’re tired,
lurching from one exhausted moment 
to the next, rushed
through life
like a cloud
at the mercy of the wind.

It’s a relief, isn’t it,
to let go, let out
what weighs heavy on your heart; 
to lie on the shoulder of the hill 
and weep.

You’re not asked to hold it all. 
Life invites release,
places mountains in your path 
to clear the skies
and water
all that you watch over.

What the cloud never sees
is that the valley floor blooms 
after rain.

Rain

FAITH

We don’t need to know
how or when or why,
only that the waves will carry us, 
gentle hands passing us
all the way to shore.

Faith

THIRST

Our river runs a lifetime
though the water each moment is new. 
Chasing what the current carries from us, 
whether for love or despair,
is to miss the only water
we ever need—

singing over stones at our feet, 
laughing and lapping at our ankles, 
water we can cup, raise to our mouth 
and drink.
Longing for what has passed
or what might come
will only leave us thirsty.

~~~

from The Land Will Hold You (2022)
(birdsong courtesy of the dawn chorus, recorded in my garden)

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Thirst

FOUND

You don’t need to mine,
you don’t need to tunnel for 
or root out anything.
Your vast soul,
that seabed on which
the ocean of you rests,
holds every part of you, 
holds you like coral to a reef, 
releasing filaments,
strands of memory,
laced treasure
to rise and float,
to make its way to the shore 
of your attention,
and, naturally, be found.

~~~

from The Land Will Hold You (2022)
(birdsong courtesy of the dawn chorus, recorded in my garden)

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Found

WILD FRUIT

Beyond my garden fence,
weeds are simply plants.
I might rip blackberry from my borders, 
but I covet its fruit in the wild.

You may not fit where you are: 
too big for small spaces,
too loose for tight boundaries, 
too loud, too colourful,
too new.

Over the fence,
the world is hungry for you; 
you belong, out there.
Arch your canes over the gate, 
beg the birds to lift you. 
However you do it,
go free.

~~~

from The Land Will Hold You (2022)
(birdsong courtesy of the dawn chorus, recorded in my garden)

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Wild Fruit

AN EARLY MORNING

When gifted an early morning, 
when something wakes you, 
holds you in its pre-dawn hand 
and will not let you go,
here is what it’s not—
it’s not for getting a jump on things,
not for ticking more off the list,
for squeezing more in or wringing more out 
of your already spoken-for day.

When gifted an early morning
take in the dawn chorus,
see what it means to wake alive and expectant, 
notice the birds quieten as the sky lightens,
see the first flush of light on the underside of clouds, 
see them pink and blush mauve
and fall away grey.

See how the birds shift gear,
now feeding, now preening,
now landing in trees
like brooches pinned to a shawl.
Be surprised by a second flush of sunrise, 
by the sun cresting the hill, by the clouds 
warm and golden in the early morning.

~~~

from The Land Will Hold You (2022)
(birdsong courtesy of the dawn chorus, recorded in my garden)

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An Early Morning

FABRIC

We are each the fine end
of not just one but many lines.
Not just two, but four, eight, sixteen, 
thirty-two ply and more.

We are a skein of threads,
our needle poised over a land 
which lies like fabric inert
but it, too, is it’s own end point—

the latest in a long line of mountains, 
valley, daughter of all valleys
laid down before her,
a river ever running,
a knot of trees, weaving its thread 
since it first broke ground.

And in our every footstep
these two points meet,
our hands and land pressing, seaming, 
our every life streaming
behind us.

~~~

from The Land Will Hold You (2022)
(birdsong courtesy of the dawn chorus, recorded in my garden)

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Fabric

A PRAYER FOR BELONGING

If I travel, let me feel every footstep.
Let me know myself as that through which I pass.

If I stay, let me belong to the land I stand on. 
Let me be here in my life.

~~~

from The Land Will Hold You (2022)
(birdsong courtesy of the dawn chorus, recorded in my garden)

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A Prayer for Belonging

A Prayer For Belonging

LET IT OUT

I know you think it will kill you. 
I know you don’t say that lightly.

Whatever it is—
the mountain you face,
the cliff edge you stand on,
the moving wall of water
before which you are always, only
one step ahead—

I know it seems impossible,
that what you’re sure will kill you 
will actually set you free

but, the mountain bows down, 
the cliff commands the beach 
to rise and meet your feet,
the wall of water pursues you 
only so it can carry you home.

All you hold at bay is yourself. 
All that might die is the thought 
I must hold this in.

~~~

from The Land Will Hold You (2022)
(birdsong courtesy of the dawn chorus, recorded in my garden)

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Let It Out

TRUST

We long to see the hand of the invisible, 
look for evidence under every rock,
lift edges and corners of happenings
in the hope that we will catch it.
We feel it under the skin of life,
a tremor below the surface,
and though we know it, we don’t trust it, 
though we feel it, we want to see it, 
though we cry show me!
we turn away from every sign.

~~~

from The Land Will Hold You (2022)
(birdsong courtesy of the dawn chorus, recorded in my garden)

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Trust

LANDSLIDE

Don’t you long to let go?
Uncurl those cramped fingers
and loosen your grip on life.
Let go the rules you cling to
and ride the rattling scree.
What do you think might happen 
besides falling?
What do you worry you’ll feel
besides relief?
The drop is shorter than you think, 
the gap between control and freedom 
less than the width of a hair.
The gravel you churn with your fear 
gives way to alpine moss;
the relief, immediate and soft.

~~~

from The Land Will Hold You (2022)
(birdsong courtesy of the dawn chorus, recorded in my garden)

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Landslide

THE HEART OF FEAR

In the heart of fear lies fearlessness.
In the eye of the hurricane stillness presides. 
Nothing can wipe out your centre,
that axis on which your world turns.

Here, blue sky reigns and quiet travels with you.
To reside here is not to deny the storm,
but to see its lashing rain, witness its violent strength 
and feel peace, still.

~~~

from The Land Will Hold You (2022)
(birdsong courtesy of the dawn chorus, recorded in my garden)

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The Heart of Fear

The Heart Of Fear

FLOOD

Sometimes you need to rise 
and sometimes
you must flood.

Go ahead— 
press the edges. 
Spread out.

Wash clear the margins 
where almost, not quite, 
and maybe took root.

Alter the boundaries. 
Carve something new 
with your life-giving self.

Be the deluge,
be the ark—
the land can take all that you’ve got.

~~~

from The Land Will Hold You (2022)
(birdsong courtesy of the dawn chorus, recorded in my garden)

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Flood

WHAT BECKONS

Come to the place
where your lane meets stream and hedgerow,

just beyond the gate of yourself, 
where you tip from gardened to wild.

Come to the place
through which all things pass and none stay.

Follow the hoof prints 
down the mud-thick lane.

Slide under the brambly hedge.
Let it take the clothes from your back.

Spill into the creek and join the leaves 
fallen and flowing home at last.

Come to the place that wants to change you. 
Be daring as you leave it.

~~~

from The Land Will Hold You (2022)
(birdsong courtesy of the dawn chorus, recorded in my garden)

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What Beckons

INTUIT

There are places where thoughts cannot go, 
places your mind will not take you,
like a road that stops at the foot of a hill
or falls short in the deep of a valley.

Be free of mind and digressions. 
Shrug off worries and plans,
set aside intent,
throw down the map you think 
got you this far.

Where the road runs out, explore. 
Go by feel, by taste,
by your quivering skin.
Let the body lead.
This way, your bones sing, 
this way home.

from The Land Will Hold You (2022)
(birdsong courtesy of the dawn chorus, recorded in Mary's garden)

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Intuit

PRECOGNITION

The sun inches across the land,
rays spreading over the turning earth. 
We wake into a day
already alive and waiting,
into a life already pregnant
with the thought of us,
preceding ourselves
as the sun’s light precedes the day.


from The Land Will Hold You (2022)
(birdsong courtesy of the dawn chorus, recorded in my garden)

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Precognition

Writer and poet from Aotearoa New Zealand. 
Books: The Land Will Hold You; Lullaby for Mothers
Join A Beautiful Beginning, the free email poetry subscription at
www.marywalker.co.nz

Mary Walker Poetry

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