Monday, 31 August 2015

Gill Sans

The body of a woman
Full on in her beauty
Given to us
Entirely unobscured
By a font maker

Sunday, 30 August 2015

Observation Duty

He waves his arms
Steps about
Turns in circles
Points, with a vengeance

His attire
Grey slacks, brown coat
Gives no suggestion
To his energetic gesticulations

Although the red shoulder bag
Seems a tad out of place
Perhaps he is the drop
Awaiting his instructions

I look up
At first think him gone, then 
I notice that he is on the move
Unfolding a paper notelet

Saturday, 29 August 2015


In the squeeze of suburbia
One might struggle to find beauty

Yet just catch the warm smiles
Of children, parents & grandparents
Oblivious to the ugly overhung buildings
Shored up beside the rail-track

Instead they laugh
As the tunnel’s darkness falls

Friday, 28 August 2015


One would be
In the good light
In the half mist
Under still clouds
In love
With the essence

Thursday, 27 August 2015

Short On Interconnection

In this darkness we rattle
All are separate, divided
I do not know
The man beside me
He does not know
How in this darkness I see

Wednesday, 26 August 2015

Ends Begin

The confusion grows apace
Warm blood flows more freely
As fast as the old fires are doused
New flames flicker and grow

Tuesday, 25 August 2015

Owned Voice

The energy for words
Superficial I says no
Inner I says rejoice
Some place between
A party & a wake
Places to settle

Monday, 24 August 2015

Room 29

His text message wakes me
Unusual for him to be unsure
Yet I do know that attribute
To be deeply embedded
In the family genes

Unusual too that he should ask me
To meet his friend, to go for lunch

Where does the guy who waits tables live
In this upbeat town of mobile high achievers
Where too the Pacamac clad cheerful youth
Who talks to himself as he gathers the litter

In the picture there is not one physical soul
The yellow orange sky cast shadows on peaks
The sea is more energetic than at peace
Its soul being some place deep embedded


Sunday, 23 August 2015

Quaffing Times

Pizza with spring duck topping
Finest draught Peroni
The music is a bit ropey
But there is football on TV
& I am reminded
Of the seaside bar in St Ives
With Kate

Saturday, 22 August 2015


Close fitted, bespoke
A good cloth
Stretched across
A sound back

But what of his mind
Head bowed as it is
Silver grey hair
Weight of wisdom

Yesterday, in his Bermuda shorts
With the blonde haired girl from Virginia
They climbed the steps to the Buddhist temple
But today it is his, yours, and my, Monday

Friday, 21 August 2015

Ancient Night

To say, with a slant how easily the ink flows
In time with Bodhrán, in tune with trembled lute

To kick step
Back on to the straight and varied
No room here for lust or love
No courtship of free-flowing
Nor frozen memories

At that the song ends
Its partner takes to the dance floor
Slow steps
Lithesome glides
Sunlight of shadow

Her voice enters; how not to give
Having, as you have, given all before


Thursday, 20 August 2015

I Or Almost Or I

I make this mark as a way to begin
A doorway through which to enter

The music is vaguely religious
With deep, folk-root, overtones
The heavy curtains are drawn
Spotlights cast long shadows

I have read from Edgelands; learnt of an artist by the name Chell of who might well have captured the verges that I hoped to draw, or write of

I have read from Falling Upward of the two halves of life; reflected on my strong similarities to the failings of others on the road to maturity

Before the fever takes hold
As I fear the fever no doubt will
I stretch full to say ‘then take me’
To write as would a man possessed

I make this mark as a way to end
A doorway through which to depart

Wednesday, 19 August 2015

Eyelid Designs

Squares morph into triangles
They change at various rates
All their lines
Dotted & bedazzled

Close your eyes 
Take a breath
Music you hear

Ambient Electronica

Close your eyes
Let the shapes
Become visual

Rails morph into circles
Their ends join as same
Both their tines
Rotten & bedraggled

Tuesday, 18 August 2015

Shore Walk

Pier & swim & splash
From crash of wave
To sunlit line of horizon

On & on & on at one
Butterfly catches the rye
As the baby’s cries echo

Fresh throws of summer
Beneath the spray
Days thoughts gone, astray

Stripes & stripes & stripes 
& stripes take sides to bathe
Twixt mother and child

Monday, 17 August 2015


The mornings autumn colours
The mornings autumn mist
I am lifted, the drift
If that is what it is, continues



Silvery white, easier to say grey, sky
At the gate, good and early, with thoughts
Of loved ones; scattered about, yet
Pulled together by a few words
Among the ploughed fields
Visible as the mist rises

Sunday, 16 August 2015


By natures light
The one moon
On meadow grass


Lone squeal
Twixt wood & window
A death of sorts


Saturday, 15 August 2015


In a state of flux
Dark night sea, moonlit

Fifteen minutes, no more
Thousands of hours ago


Friday, 14 August 2015

Home Service

Ever so
My mother
With her love of letters

That creeps
As lead on typeface setters

All those footsteps
In pleasant vales
Ragged trousers, wind in sail


Thursday, 13 August 2015

You’ll Need A Coat

Sat in the rain
It is plain, I could go to London
You are always the same
Thoughtful and considerate

Yet here I am, on the train
A soft refrain, on my way to London
The doubt almost became
Lacking in thought, how inconsiderate


Wednesday, 12 August 2015

A New Expanse

To be in love
To have been in love
Six coins in the fountain

The sea of love
The three of love
Warm hearts
On snow capped mountains


Tuesday, 11 August 2015

Birdcage Of The Soul

At the very least it ought to be a reflective letter
A piece to look back a good distance, looking back
From the safe vantage point of lost communication

I have been taken by the vistas
On several occasions the multifarious hillocks
Would catch the evidently varying light

The machair, for that is these Islanders name
For the strip of land between dune and farm
Or between dune and croft

The machair would be lit as a line
To underline the horizon
That separates sea from sky

I expected to feel more touched
By the expanse of solitude
It has not been so

Not that one could say
That the Islanders revel
In parties or conversation

Perhaps they need a long breath of finer weather
& clearer skies, but they have not yet borne
Their dark weight upon me

I have this desire, an urge to open out my life
To take full advantage of all the beauty
You included, that has so far befallen me

This journey
Into and through my subconscious
To be chartered by my superficial soul

The writer, the voice
Though no singer, I do aim to carry songs
As would the reader, to and fro

From the birdcage of my soul
To steal the words
Of one song from everybody’s past


Monday, 10 August 2015


Darkness calls around
Slight chill of autumn
Light whistle of wind
Up the fireless chimney

All the sounds of intern
On the backlit keyboard
A thankfulness blows
As if love called my name

I shape up to see the trees
Silhouettes in feint relief
The thief of another summer
My timeless breath fades


Sunday, 9 August 2015

Tongue & Groove

Sunlit Doors
Hasps, rasps, nobbles
Key locked & slide bolted

I sit on the step, half in shadow, half in light
The doors not insignificant security
Leaves me fairly well protected

It is a barrier from the onrush of parishioners
Those spirited attendees of a service
That would be difficult for me to attend

As I enter the chapel later all is quiet
It is clear of worshipers and tourists alike
I stand ever so still, to feel the magnificent privilege

Swim with venom into my veins
Run rampant throughout my hopeful mind
Give my soul these free words to rampage with

I am heavy in admiration of mortice and tenon
The carpenters surely fashioned this boldness
Making a statement, as carpenters sons are known to


Saturday, 8 August 2015

Before We Go To Emptiness

This morning I am extremely sensually aroused
In a sexually aroused kind of way
I did have an erotically charged dream
Yet some three hours later
The passions are still climbing
The sap is still rising

Is this a reaction
To the nuns and the monks
Who we met at the weekend
Have I a mind
To counterbalance their abstinence

Or is this a stiff test
A delusion or a distraction
(A pretty strong one, I'll give you that)
A means to prevent my meditation
One more hurdle for me to sidle over
On the road to peace*Version*=1&*entries*=0

Friday, 7 August 2015

Procedures and Artefacts

I came into town to collect my prescription from the chemists. Kate said to ask if they do home deliveries, so I did ask; and the lady said yes we do, but only for the housebound. She did not say, but I think that clearly she thought, I did not meet that criteria.

I brought my old black leather shoes with me, to take them to the cobbler for new soles and heels (steel tipped). I find out that he does not open Monday's and Thursday's, today is Monday. I need then not have worried, as I did all the way, as to whether or not he takes cash or card for payment.

I was rather taken by the glass fronted sideboard at Madhyamaka. I fancied having a reflection in our old stables so that meditators could look back, through the new window behind them into the garden, much as I had done to watch the gulls soaring. The antiques centre had no such thing, and they didn't appear to know if they were going to be expecting one.*Version*=1&*entries*=0

Thursday, 6 August 2015


I remember, what I heard, or read; about our thoughts and our dreams not being reality

Then I watched a poetry video Ultimo Fragmento (English subtitles)

A poem by Raymond Carver, he of What we talk about when we talk about love

I remember, what I read or heard, about his addictions and his delusions

Now I am told that what he wanted was "To call myself beloved, to feel myself beloved on earth"

My own obsessions, and their distance from reality brought me to the place where I first found him, and to where I find him once again*Version*=1&*entries*=0

Wednesday, 5 August 2015

Darkness Before Light

I said that I had heard the shrill sound of the roosting birds at dusk; the young monk told me that I would also be woken by their impressive dawn chorus

This evening, after a day of mindfulness and meditation I will listen more closely to the roost, I may even move myself to be closer to the action

Yet for now my mind is engaged in thoughts of how we seek out conversation; as though the interior being cannot trust itself to survive alone, or even be alone

My own defence from this fear of solitude is reading and writing, eating and drinking, bathing, and then preparing for the day that lies ahead

I have called it solitude yet already I have a certainty that the name is mistaken, or that the word is unduly heavy with too negative a connotation

What I wished to express, for myself, was the silent joy that exists within; a joy of silence that cries out for extending the times of pure peace

I am mindful that the path of my own words is often distracted by the delusory emotions of the moment; yet they are such a wonderful pleasure that I seek them out o so often

Tuesday, 4 August 2015

Plans And Inactivity

During the meditation I was thinking about where to sit for my meditation at Avista

I also contemplated how to lay out the meditation chairs in the Old Stables

I even began to think about building a few shelves, on the back wall; centrally placed

And then, just for the shortest of moments, I was outside the Catholic Church in St Aubins

I do not believe that I ever entered through the doors of that building

I came back to the meditation using my skills of alertness and mindfulness

Skills that have waned, but which one day hopefully I may fully and resolutely recover

Monday, 3 August 2015


Up the stairs, with the aroma known previously
At Salts Gallery; I look out of the window
On the crest of the hill stands a copse of trees
As imagined from Hockney's Yorkshire works

I recognise the painting on the wall
I wonder if it is an original, or a copy
I take a photograph, for reference
It is a detail of a blossom tree

The young man from Czechoslovakia
Who studied Philosophy and Buddhism
From twenty-one through to thirty, is busy plastering
He told me that he built a house, with his friend

We have (Kate and I that is) laid out plans
For our stables renovation project
Kate is not keen on IKEA furniture
Or glass-topped tables

I may have a small desk
Placed under the window
To the side of the wood-burner
Kate is ok with that

I didn't mention the hi-fi
But Kate wants to dance
So we will have a practical need
For the amplification of music

Sunday, 2 August 2015

Nearness; Also Further Away

I had the unsettling feeling
Of a female body sat beside me
An opportunity for desirous attachment
Perhaps a dance maybe, or instead
To carry her off across the flowered lawn

Of course
All that was really on my mind
Were the freesias in the Italian garden
The wisteria overhanging the walls
And the path to the rocks by the sea

A place to take off ones shoes and socks
Bathe ones toes in the clear water
Whilst looking out
Out there, over to Genoa
And the blue mountains beyond

Such as it is
That I tie three lives into one life
That I meditate and daydream
At one and the same time, as the moon
Appears, in the mind, like blue sky*Version*=1&*entries*=0

Saturday, 1 August 2015

Take What You Can

In the meditation room
A glass display cabinet
With likenesses of Buddha

In front of this substantial
Piece of furniture sits our
Practice leader

He wears the robes
Of his ordination
Crimson & gold

In the glass
I see a reflection
Of gulls

Slowly and gracefully
Landing in the fields
Through the window

Behind me
Caught between
These three images

Each with their
Own sense of beauty
I still my mind

That is I still my
Visual mind, and listen
To the instilling words