Most days I would try to write a poem; it is a practice, as I suppose is meditation, or smiling, or watching the world go by
Tuesday, 7 August 2012
On the way of what to do
In these days of wondering
Days of wondering what to do
In these times of wondering
On the way to think of you
On the way to think
To think of what to do
So today the way
To blue skies and mountains
The way to spirits, souls
And stairways unleaden
Today the way to play
The way that children do
Without the wander
Or the wonder
Of the wandering wondering
Wandering & wondering
What to do
What to do
With the next few moments
The minutes and the hours
The days of country flowers
The seven steps to seek
That make up most my week
Seek out the moths
Sergei and stroganoff
The years of generations
Penetrations and separations
Of life lines into lifetimes
Take the pen
The paper and the pencil
Write down thoughts
Appropriate gestations
That may be met upon the spot
Past incarcerations
Or maybe not
From the Collection I Suppose You could Call It Country, available on Kindle