Le Corsaire/English National Ballet

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How lucky to be at last night’s debut of Le Corsaire in Milton Keynes Theatre. My friends and I regularly support the theatre. The staging and the costumes were magnificent, the first setting in the market was perhaps my favourite. How amazing were the principal dancers as they achieved perfection (at least to my untutored eyes)! There were a few timing issues but the orchestra, being consummate professionals held it together beautifully.

It is a very long time since I read Byron’s poem on which this ballet is based so now I am going to re-read it and wallow in the memory of the dance which will transport me out of a mundane Friday morning.

Thank you ENB.

Best wishes to all, ballet fan or not. Denny Bradbury

Durham Cathedral

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Another visit to this beautiful building, but so much more than stone.

Listen to the silent poetry of the pink stone

Hear the mute entreaty for love and peace

quietly seek and there will be answers

all we need to know in a solid block

I wish you all what the stones would give.

Denny Bradbury

Julian of Norwich

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It came to me out of the blue.  I was idly wandering through the fields when I felt that I had to write about Julian of Norwich.  Her writing has long been both an inspiration and a puzzle to me. Her commitment and her intellect are both dazzling.  This is by way of an entreaty to understand.

The Call

Mother Julian! Mother Julian!

I don’t know your name, the one that your mother would call

As you wandered away from your home in the grip of your holy enthral

As you sat looking out at the blue

of the sky be it daytime or night were you always convinced of your goal

did you instinctively know what is right, was yours always a pure childish soul?

Did God’s voice on the wind or the tide

gently slide in with delight and rock you with thoughts so divine

you said, “Now I’m for an Anchorite I know the course that is mine”.

Was it simple for you, did you doubt

were you ever tempted to sin? When children bullied and fought

were you there on the edge looking in, thinking violence will all come to nought?

I hope that you gave up some gritty

childhood pleasures and joys that you threw sticks and muddied the water

and you cried over old broken toys, wishing to stay evermore as a daughter

freezing time that was precious and good

but then you discovered your Father in churches so simple and plain

that you walked away from your family a much greater one for to gain.

How proud and how sad was your mother

when you donned the linen pure, that mark of your face in her memory

full of light and conviction so sure, Holy work the one truth in your story

Do I envy you the faith that was riven

so deep in your brilliant mind? Shall I ever be even so true

to a tenth of what you left behind? Only God knows, but maybe I do!

Denny Bradbury©2013

Mighty Larch Tree

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My recent walk on Offa’s Dyke with my sister brought me face to trunk with a magnificent larch tree. It stood so majestically it seemed to speak to me.  Fanciful perhaps but I sensed a real energy about this particular tree.  I have been trying to finish a poem about it but something is hindering me. It may be that deep down I feel that whatever I write will hardly do it justice, yet I keep trying.  Here are two of the verses which I share with you.

What mighty larch with such wisdom

do you stand there determined and still

watching over the world as your kingdom

with such patience and time honoured drill

The darkness beneath your fine branches

hides creatures and memories galore

with such wondrous arms are the tranches

of history steeped so in death’s claw

We ignore our trees at our peril.

Best wishes- Denny Bradbury

Cobwebs/Gossamer

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We are all so aware of the terrible troubles afflicting the world at the moment, but hasn’t it always been so?  Until humankind stops wanting what others have to boost their ego and until poets and peace-loving people take over we will continue down this awful path of fear and mayhem.

Walking with my faithful dog this morning I saw once more the beauty in the autumnal spiders’ webs caught on gates and among the tall grasses that my faith in nature was restored.

Gossamer tablecloth covering green, tiny creatures never to be seen. Gassamer threads weaving over all, holding early dew in autumn’s thrall.

This is the first verse of a poem I wrote last autumn which view filled me so with wonder at the infinite variety of our world, awesome beauty in the tiniest of places.

Let’s give the poets a chance!

A peaceful day to you all – Denny Bradbury