Poetry IV

55.5

Until today, I didn’t know,

 

That I would have

read all the books that I have.

That I would have walked miles

across fields and up mountains.

That I would have enjoyed cake as much as I do.

That I would have a twenty five-year

old daughter and love her so much that I ache.

That I would have had a dozen lovers and

experienced great joy and deep sadness.

That I would have enjoyed the company of

good friends and laugh as much as I do.

That good friends would come and go.

That I would devour music in the same

way that I devour books – obsessively.

That I would have married, divorced, and

mourned.

That I would have lived in 12 different homes.

That I would have travelled to more than 20 different countries.

That I would be as contemplative as I am.

That I would have had eight cats.

That I can be so uncharitable at times.

That I can forgive so easily.

That I love all too soon.

That I never have enough love.

That no matter how I grow, I am always short.

That I would pass over, and over again.

That I am new over. and over again.

 

Until today, I didn’t know.

And tomorrow, I will

not know some more.

****

 

Hello

Moon ripples

as water shines

its light.

 

Spirited

Living towards death –

a comedic tragedy

rides a wave like

a riffing guitar –

playful.

 

Visceral

Happiness rides with

The devil in the calm

Of the chaos that

Is existence and

Comes alive.

 

Waving a Dream.

Dreams are like

Ships that pass in

The night, journeys

Tumultuous and rough,

Journeys delightful and calm,

Sleep or awake they

Ride the sea of change.

 

Existence

Millenniums

Compressed and

Contained in

Bodily ash spilling

Out and meeting

Edge to edge

As we breathe

This beauty.

 

Serendipity

Chaotic chance

Random dance

Momentary

Perfection.

 

Sound of silence

It was never silent

To begin with and

So there is no

Return. There was chaotic

Mayhem even before

The beginning. There

Is no such thing as

A silent retreat and

For that I am thankful.

 

Pillow Talk

Listening to the dull thud of my heart

    on the pillow sounds like heavy feet

in a dark tunnel. Carry me home

    dadum da dum dum dadum ricochets

off the eardrum surround sound

    that is coming from the core where

dreams house the truth and the truth

   houses the dream dadum da dum

dum dadum. Black visible sound a sight of

darkness bringing heartened light in

restless sleep.

 

Impromptu

Like a jazz note

Never knowing

How to end

Never knowing

How to begin

The rhythm

Makes for a

Flighty trip

Lived always

In between

 

Emotion

e-motion is

A movement

Emergence and

Eruption,

 

of life no longer

Sedately seated

Burrowed and

Bolted,

 

instead,

Broken free and

Flowing with

Life as it is living.

 

Subtle

Where the light

Footprint evaporates

She was here?

 

Tension

A steady drip

Of elation makes

Energy constant

Even amidst a

Grey sky.

 

Unadopted

No path

Laid is an

Unfolding road.

 

Illuminate

Never a new

Dawn, always

A fresh light.

 

Landscape

No beyond the

Human scene ’tis

Only one of many.

 

Prodigious

Aswell as One,

A tension unrelenting,

Inescapable holding

And letting go,

A constant coming

In and going out,

Hearts loving

And not loving,

Unavoidable damage

And repair, making

New with the old

Still intact, A revision

Without rebirth, no

Onion layers, no apple

Core, instead an

Illusive immanent

Spawning.

 

Immanently Rose

My favourite flower is

A rose – a white rose:

What makes me a human

And not a rose?

And when does the

Rose become fully a

Rose? No time can halt

The unfolding petals

Like my unfolding

Crowsfeet. What makes

Me fully human, if human

At all?

The rose lives too.

And the rose dies too.

But ah when it budded,

And oh when it bloomed.

In between this moment

And that moment, I

Fancy I am a rose. In

Between this moment

And that moment, I

Am fully.

 

Sky

A vast terrain

Of untouchable

Cloud as no

Spirit soars

To your untouchable

Heart.

 

Opportunity Flows

The string began

Has yet to finish

And when it does

We will see

It was all ignorance

Innocence, awe and

Surprise and

We missed it.

 

Consciously late

Original miracle

A wilderness of nothing

Housing everything, brings

An unknown nub

Of longing –

In no straight line

No line at all –

A combustion of gas

In miraculous colour

Becomes scene painting

Of a purity lost

As it births into

The atmosphere

A consciousness

Always too late.

 

Consciousness

A rich conversation:

With the body

With the tears

With the thoughts

With the song

With the book

With the poem

With the painting

With the red party

With the Buddha

With the child

With the lover

With you

With the birds

With the sky

With the air

With all that is

Abstract life on

Its way to an

Abstract end

And the sky

Shines on a

Hazy moon as

A kiss lands on

My lips.

 

Adrenaline Rush

Suicide

Touches life in

A way no other

Living can.

 

Meditation

All day no sound,

Laughter wanting to leap out

It leapt in!

 

Aftershock

His comb-over rise seems

A necessary presence

That has awakened

Complacency and so

Always blood before a

Peace meal is a

Narrative as conspicuous as

A buckwheat filled cushion.

 

Antidote

We have watchers of bird

In flight and habitat,

Soothers of brow and temperament,

Groomers of car and steam engine,

Makers of movie and tale,

Dancers of lyric and rhyme,

Rockers of leather and string,

Collectors of stamp and stuff,

Sitters of breath and beyond,

Experts on worm and soil,

Growers of plant and perfume,

Bakers of morsel and cake,

Sewers of thread and cape,

Makers of love and care,

Creators of God and prayer,

Writers of concept and truth,

Poets of art and scene,

Fighters of freedom and life –

Magnificent ordinariness

Under one roof of coloured sky

– a constant moving blanket

For the ever changing

You and I.

 

JPS

Always in mood

Never without

Brings company.

 

Making Tea

Stirring the pot

Too vigorously

Forces the leak

As a reminder of my

Impatience and

Anticipation of cold

Fingers around a hot

Cup.

 

Transparent

The somatic

is a purity

where dirt is clean.

 

Acute

Give moisture

To the worthy seed

Of a foolish dream,

For fools who

Dream precipitate

Life.

 

 

Wired and Awake

Restless world

Calls to the heart

And contaminates the

Riot until the tide

Of you washes it

Back to its natural

Calm and pure

Chaos.

 

By any other

Uncertainty is

A rose by the

Name of possibility

 

Life’s a breeze!

Walking the wind

Without push

Is surrender.

 

Poetry

Lyric and rhyme

Without rule

Releases the revolutionary

Heart hitting

A sweet spot of

Luminous life

To be savoured

For a moment

In all its tangible

Mystery.

 

Protest

Each alone

A singular of

Multiples

With a drive

And a choice of

Our own,

And if by chance

Our driving choice

Meet

There we stand

Alone together –

Solidarity.

 

Scorching tears

I want to say

Something.

My gut

My heart

My eyes

My mouth

Are stoked up by

A fire burning inside

Scorching my innards

To say something,

And I don’t know what to say.

I could begin with

A criticism

Which is so easy, so

I hold the jolt

That stops me hammering

Over there so that

I can stay steadfast here.

Can I fight from here?

From where I stand

Silently speaking

My affirmative protest?

Is my weeping body

Protest enough?

If I stand with you

Silent tears streaming

Relieving the

Blistering heat

In my belly, in my heart,

Is that protest enough?

Sometimes the limit

Of what I weep

Has to be enough.

 

Awake

Daydreaming

is a full deck

of unmarked cards.

 

 

Last night’s News

It’s six o’clock

The Ben strikes

And the well-groomed couple

Sited behind the well-staged

Desk in front of the well-focused

Camera serve up my

Humanity in its raw ugly

Horror and raw blighted beauty

Until I can hear no more

As my ears scream

Enough!

 

Brexit Brexile Bile

The world suffers from

the segregation that some friends

insist upon.

Collaboration, open hearts,

open minds, open doors,

are paradoxically and ironically the site for conflict and fight.

Friends, I smile

through a sad heart.

We sent an unfriendly message today.

 

Post-Brexit

I weep

we are weeping

you weep

we are weeping

You and I

is a singular indifferent animal

that must continue

to climb so that it can fall

readily into the abyss

that is only love

and yet ALL love

where no I, you, them, us,

exist in the fantasy language that has nothing to say

but keeps apart.

Not do OR die

but undo AND die.

 

Faith

Faith has no question.

It is trusting to fall

and falling into trust.

It is clarity

and no clarity.

It is surrender

without sight.

But please do not

be blind.

 

Gold dust

Autumn sun

a deeper shade of gold

beams through my window

shining love

on the dust-caked table.

 

Precarious Accommodation

Heron

I disturbed your peace

unwittingly, and I apologise for that.

A pity you could not accommodate

my surprising presence.

Uninvited I gently followed you

along the river bank

and for a few moments

conversation in sublime accommodation,

for longer than I could ever have hoped for.

Until the four-legged

friend arrived

and neither you nor I

could accommodate

our fear of that intrusion.

 

Independence Day

She looks up

She looks out

Sun, rain,

Shine and shower,

Not in the slightest bit

dependent upon her.

Who does she think she is,

winking at the annoying little fly,

and smiling at the pretty little ladybird?

A belly full of happiness amidst

all meaningful obscurity.

 

Red Breasts

A flighty crimson jewel in the

Frost dancing perch to perch

Chanting a joyful melody

Fit for any passing

Congregation neither gender

Culture nor colour specific,

But do keep your eyes

and ears open lest you miss

a chance to beam at such

perfect pairing.

 

Always in season

On the turn

the wind forces the leaf

gold, brown and red

from the branch

spinning and diving

to the ground

still warm and throbbing

from the summer scorch.

Beckon the breeze

bring balm to cool

and calm the senses

before the blizzard

force of winter

brings the love of the

dark night into

the cold light of day.

 

The Craft

The artist

knows not where she goes

nor where she lands.

The psychologist knows

exactly where he stands

which is his journey’s end.

The therapist

roams between the two

which is neither here nor there.

And as a teardrop falls

the true dharma eye winks.

 

The Sickness

Not free;

never met a free man

only a life riddled with

wanting to reach

an origin

that never was

and never is

no matter how deep

the travelling.

 

Trust

What’s it all for?

Nothing.

It just is.

So do it all

for the love of that

and cry when necessary;

let the laugh leap from your mouth

and the fury boil the blood

with a smile

and a heart

and one huge fragile

leap of faith

into the darkness

where light is found.