Climber

A black and white light
A black and white meditation
After reading of death
After reading of Doors for the Dead

A new light
With the singing of starlings
A fresh air
With the window flung wide open

She came here as a five year old
Thirty-eight years ago
Her parents were school teachers
Her father was a Buddhist

They came here in the school holidays
She remembers some of the gardens
Some of the hidden pathways
Although she feels

With some nostalgic sadness
Coupled-up to modern joy
That the inside of the house
Has changed beyond measure

Available on Kindle

Advice

There is a call for peace
And whilst it does not disturb me
It leaves me somewhat fearful
Of losing my own voice
There is a way of concentration
That makes me forgetful
That I don't aim to forget
There is a propaganda
Of fake beauty and glitter
That doesn't quite
Take my breath away
There is also the first letter
Of the word I had forgotten
And then the woman sits down
The one I had who forgotten
To even ask her name
Although I retold her story

There is a seat in the woods
I think it is there to signify
The end of the non-circular
Lakeside walk
Yet the path does continue
To where I do not venture
Instead I came to the temple
But the temple was busy
I found a dry-stone wall
Which one day I might copy

As I stroked the stone
A Buddhist introduced himself
He asked if I was a builder
He told me he used to be
The abbey's electrician
But the work was overwhelming
I told him of the busyness of the temple
He showed me to this quiet gazebo
From where I write to you right now

Available on Kindle

Walking Up The Lane, Deep In Conversation

I could tell you of the birdsong
For it has been with me since dawn

I could tell you
Of the still-pond by the woods
Settled all day
Covered with the shadows
Of the overhanging branches

Of course the shadows move
Just as the day moves
Just as those young boys
Won't remember their games of tennis
When the young girls come along
Asking them to dance

We could have told you
The names of the birds
For once we did know them all
Skylark, swallow, thrush
We knew all of the birds
In the sky, in the trees, in the bush

We would have told you
Of our plans to dig out the pond
To create a dam in the stream
Blockading the water
Until it is deep enough to swim in
Rather than catch sticklebacks

Of course the old folk, walking by
They have more memories
They show us how to take time
How to relive memories, how to celebrate
Past and the present; just as two lovers
Caught up in the act of procreation

Available on Kindle

Sensation

Buttercups and bluebells
Shellfish for the supper
Nature walks and evening poets
Soup, with rolls strong on garlic

Old woodlands of nature's love
Absent in the ever after
After the split, the split
Mackerel, heavily peppered

Fresh waters, silted waters
Soil from high on the Pennines
One range, your range
Fish & chips, down in the valley

Talk no more of late laments
Those fragments cold as ice
Sliced into the wild mirrors
Oysters, doused with sea salt

Secluded in exclusive apartments
Turn up the stereo
Fine tune the meditation
Lemon rice, sprinkled with jasmine

I say goodbye, I say goodbye so often
In the warm, mid-June afternoon
Writing, under canvas in the forest
Sipping champagne, savouring the caviar

Available on Kindle

Manjushri Beach, June 2015

You have to be in a place
Before you can know
That you are in that place

Be in that place
That place be in

You have to begin in one place
To move on to the next place
Even in your imagination

Begin in that place
That place to begin

For instance
On this sunny afternoon
To go from Ben Nevis to Donna Nook

One mindful swoop
No waste in between

Available on Kindle

Flight or Fight

One dog
Disturbs four hundred birds
One doubt
Unsettles four hundred certainties

The four hundred birds
Landed across the water
The one dog (and its owner)
Retreated, (as if in sure defeat)

Life goes very quickly
Looking back
On the recent past

Life is less tricky
Thinking back
On what's made to last

Life, even in Billericay
Stands back
To look out upon the cast

Available on Kindle

Algull Castle with Kate

'What fine memories will I have, ten years from now, of once having been in.... What will such memories hold, what associations of feelings which I cannot guess at this moment'
Antal Szerb - Journey by Moonlight

You received my gifts
With the gratitude of love
We drank champagne and we kissed
You asked if it was ok
For you now to ask to marry me

I made some poor joke
About my present certificated situation
Then moved
The circumstantial conversation on

Now you are capturing the castle
In watercolours
While I sit out in the afternoon sun
Writing words which may one day
Give a clue to what a chance I missed

Available on Kindle

Centre Court

This shrine, divine
Leaves me, inclined
To feel for love
Under cotton sheets
After Muscadet and the castle chatter

Skin on skin
Breast on breast
Tongues kissing
As the boys
On the tennis court squeal with laughter

As our squeals
On the expectations
Of loves lustful sensations
Gut-strings, taut
On the racket; tension, suspense; one-all

Our strings also
Echo back and forth;
'Yes I love you'
'Yes I do love you'
After all it is one-all; it is one-all, isn't it

Available on Kindle

Self-Service

I've found a breeze, and shade
After a drink
Of Summer Fruits with Cloudy Lemonade

What a world in which we live
Taking photographs
Of the sun's effect on this summer's June

Listening to agricultural machinery
Stirring up a fair-old agricultural aroma
Meanwhile, the young boy plays

That same young boy as all young boys
Some with their picture in the paper
Some locked away behind closed doors

Whosoever gave us the sunlight
Also gave us the depressions
The greater expressions of woe

From where we are grateful to leave
To find the breeze, and the shade
With a pitcher of Victorian Lemonade

Available on Kindle

Long View

Skyline

Sublime

Over the treetops

In time

Your sign

Falls on the page

First crime

You to be mine

Nothing now to stop us

That line

Grade nine

Calmed the rage

First to climb

Then to remind

The course of our way

The light of our day

Available on Kindle

Uniform

The day begins
With the delivery man
Good looking letters
Arriving in the post
The day is bathed
In the sun of June
Good looking lawns
Stretch to the water

Listen to the buzzing-bee
Listen to the chaffinch
Shadows aren't all we see
As we watch the dragonfly
Stamp this moment
Label it at least once more
Blow away the dust
Eradicate the cobwebs

Love is as lovers do; so say thanks
That she asked to marry you
Look on down the line
Look back to the doorstop
Say thanks for her loving you
Say thanks for the morning

Available on Kindle

Seat Towards the Water

The old silver-birch
Its leaves, tilted by the breeze
As though the time had come
To wave brightly at the blue sky

The groundsman
He has done the groundsman's job
As though knowing of my nostrils needs
For the tinge of newly-mown grass

The blackbird soars
In a territory of its own making
As if to take me back to the stories
Of Jonathan Livingston Seagull

I am also conscious that flies
And midges share this space
As if they had been invited
By the sounds of the bullfrog

You are on the steps
Saying goodbye to the scouser
As if your empathy with mankind
Could become never-ending

And of course the butterfly
All dressed in cream & damsel
As if the meadows are about to beckon
With the flight, and call, of the partridge

Available on Kindle

Start Again

There is a roof light
Yet it is the electric light
Whose glow is cast
Onto the vase of flowers
The candles
At either side of the mirror
An awkward height for lighting
Or for light to go into the bedroom
A place I can sort of see
Through a glass panelled door
With engravings of pheasants
Where more light is flowing
Artificial, ruby red light
And white, natural daylight
The night-time is over
The morning is with us
I can hear the birds
I can hear the gas boiler
All seemed clearer
Yesterday, though without
Wine and conversation
It becomes more difficult
Today, to piece together
The many divergent strands

Available on Kindle

Ruling Class - Working Class

Distinguished guests
Also Those Less Distinguished

We welcome you
Please help the world
Forget past hatreds, also wrongdoings

Search out peace
And peaceful propaganda
Be thankful, for food on the table

Be mindful
Of wine, women & song
Follow the shadows, through the gardens

Watch the waves
Of the summer leaves
Say hello to you, say thank you to yourself

For these are the better days
After the Good Year for the Roses

Available on Kindle

Your Castle Awaits You

On the top
Up above Alston Moor
Away from the river
Away from the bridge
On the floor of the valley

I sit, I think
It's a thinking sitting thing
We drink champagne
We drink gin
It's a gin & champagne thing

Available on Kindle

Spirals & Staircases

I left few marks
None that you'd notice
I saw that white green grass
On the sunlit Sunday evening

The bark of dog, and song of bird
Muffled words overheard
I have watched that leaf
Throughout the season

Only with reason and mastery unplanned
Do I misunderstand the photographs
The bric-a-brac on white windowsills
Chilled still wine with plain Roman blinds

See the signs of middle class
The traps of middle-aged nostalgia
We are now acquiring vases
At quite a rate of knots

Inkblots are found to be fake psychology
Or so it seems, as some mean spirited
Writer tries to crush my dreams
With few marks left

Least none that you'd notice

Available on Kindle

Songs - Times

I didn't check the date
I didn't pay attention to the detail

• Pablo Picasso
• Edward Burra
• Wyndham Lewis
• RB Kitaj
• Frank Brangwyn
• JoanMiro

These are the names that brought me here
Most especially: Wyndham Lewis and Joan Miro

I have missed Conscience & Conflict
Just as I missed the Spanish Civil War
Though that was by three generations
Rather than by just: For those three days

Available on Kindle

Floorspace

One lamp bulb is not lit
One painting is in darkness
The blood trundles
Around my calves and my thighs
As if to say it is time to rest

I need not meditate
To feel the twinge in my left knee
Or the dissatisfaction, shown
By the soles of my feet
With the morning's extreme walking

Only the scents, the perfumes
The eau-de-colognes
Only the aroma's
Heavy with wanting, heavy in expectation
Of lifting the weight from my wasteland

It is quiet now, I am alone in the gallery
There is a parquet floor; the exhibition:
So Last Century
Says a lot about misdirected energy

There are more staff than visitors
There are more galleries closed than open
Two days ago the doors closed
On the future, or the past
Of the Spanish Civil War, it seems
The modernists have moved on

Available on Kindle

Occupation

The gusting wind tears through the small but flexible tree. The small but flexible tree that has made its life between the yards slabs of reinforced concrete.

Behind the interwoven wire and railing security fence, in front of the stacks of remaindered wooden pallets, to the side, in the foreground so to speak.

There is a brick-wall building, attached to which is a cast iron drainpipe; whose once blue paint now peels to allow the rust.

Available on Kindle

Chemistry

We were on a factory visit, a place also with a university. I was with colleagues from an old employer. The bus, yes we were a bus-full, the bus dropped off the first tranche of visitors by the glass domed building, the one with underground laboratories.

I also got off there but quickly left the group, isolated myself, and headed for the old, quintessential, stone-built university.

I climbed the wide stairs, sat on a bench and took off my shoes. I put the shoes down on the floor by the door to a long long passageway.

I was quickly and forcibly told by a sour old lady on the reception desk that I couldn't leave my shoes there.

I moved them to the other side of the door, then a uniformed security guard said I couldn't leave them there either. I left them there anyway.

When I got back the shoes had gone; I looked all over for them, but I didn't ask the grumpy old lady on the desk, or the smug security guard.

It seemed I would have had to get on the bus in my stocking feet, except for the fact, that the bus had also gone.

Available on Kindle

Tom W

Always, not always
Seeking yet distracting
Bacon and meditation

If we wait long enough
Wait, not wait; dance
Listening to me

Available on Kindle

Letter from Suzie in Colorado

Dear Thich

I have to write, to say thanks to you, for it was your inspiration that had me walking around the room guided by Bodhipaksa; to feel every part of my body, from the heels and soles of my feet to the top of my eyelids and beyond. I walked bare-foot, I walked further than I have walked in a long time.

I woke in the night, my lower legs were undergoing dynamic interior motion, I have never taken speed but my legs were agitated in such a way that I thought only possible by a strong drug involvement.

I am on a low carb diet, I was eating bacon while I watched your Monastic gathering on line. I would like to join you at Plum Village, perhaps you can introduce me to the monk who goes fly fishing, also to the monk who is a fan of playing cricket, and of course to your beautiful assistant, the one with the soft voice, and the tie-dyed sarong.

Available on Kindle

First Findings

I had the time, and for once I followed the trail of the email advertisement; I paid my thirty one pounds sterling.

One hour later, inspired by what I had found, I found myself doing a walking meditation in my little room at Avista B&B, as I walked (guided by Bodhipaksa) I could see the sunlight out of the French doors.

At the end of the walking I stood still; I felt myself standing, how good was that.

I then shot a short video, of the sunlight streaming through the trees, the blue sky was being invaded by black clouds, the breeze was becoming a wind, a storm was on its way, it appears then that the continuum thus continues.

Available on Kindle

Clean & Sparkling

What happens to make love happen
Who chose to put love
Into the throes of dreams

Batten down the saddened hearts
Close off the intimating strangulations
Fragments of the o so true

I was working
In the financial services industry

When I say I was working
Well I was on trial
I hadn't yet got the company car
Or the all expenses paid credit card

I was a salesman
Paid purely on commission
But I was good at it
At least I would be
Once I made my first sale

I was shopping
For a razor and shaving foam
I went up and down the stairs
I bumped into an old work colleague
I didn't care for him then
And neither do I now
He handed me the cream

I was sat at the top of a very long escalator
It was outside, probably in London
I had come up with this idea
That people would be far better off

Not knowing how much they were saving
Not knowing how much money they had
All I had to do was to convince people
To buy into my plan

I woke with such a start
As my mobile alarm-buzzer sounded

Available on Kindle

Composed Whilst Driving II

Poems without hope
Dreams without end
He wears his duty
Upon his sunny sleeve
A sure-born entertainer
She smiles, as others grieve
There it is...

How easy to be mournful
To pour scorn
Rather than to find beauty
To walk to the crease
Feeling ever less hopeful
Ravaged by the needs of duty
There it goes...

Look out on the trees
The windmills slowly turning
Sat in the queue
No one looks, no one is learning
All is straight ahead
No one gives, all are for earning
There it is, there it goes...

Available on Kindle

Contour & Contrast

You too are complicit
With the uneven answers
Wedged as you are
Heading to the precipice

Then to fall back on beauty
Hard snows, black rocks
Winds across the old moors
Warm sun, blue skies
Breezes over the salt marsh

Even in the lonely hour, with
Only the mind and the pen
Ever then the happiness
The calm of confusion
Reaching for the stars

To still believe in love
Good news, white light
Letters in the boxes
Expansive, with clear hope
As ink flows from the fountains

Available on Kindle

Beds and Brocade

In that awkward search
For more open space
You find yourself
Backed into another corner

All around are triangles
Formed by walls, ceiling beams
And four poster furniture
Not squared up at the outset

Available on Kindle

Wander In

I was in London, walking beside a big lay-by, which gypsy wagons had pulled into, I climbed over cars covered with juice…

I found myself walking down a wide alleyway, I came upon a door to 'an experience', I entered and climbed the narrow staircase…

There were lots of people, in smart casual dress. They logged me in, and put me with a group of five or six…

I said I was an engineer, another guy said he was a builder, a long haired chap said he was a poet…

I was looking forwards to our conversation, but the group soon broke up, and I found myself eating a roast dinner…

I checked out; the explanations for the receipt were bamboozling,  the 'experience' had cost over seven hundred thousand pounds…

I caught the train home.

Was it a dream, or was it two dreams. All I know is that there was lots of joy and laughter. I was very happy, and only a little disappointed not to talk with the bohemian poet. As always there are people, as always there is a refectory. Oddly this was an almost all male collective, apart from the girls taking the money!

Available on Kindle

Marshchapel Bank Holiday

You are due on at four

I am sat in the graveyard

Looking out onto a very busy headstone

What do I make of the Cherub blowing kisses

Would the song work if I played Ukulele

For that is the sound I hear

Along with the cockerel

The singing, and the dogs barking

All of that is in my left ear

With only the church there to divide us

I never really settled with the motorbike

I was too much a creature of comfort

The bench has slats for the sitting

It is set solid, upon substantial flagstones

Where my feet settle, firm upon the ground

Available on Kindle

Drift

If only to see the sunlight
Feel the stillness in the shadows
All then to walk alone on the marshes
To sit in those quiet spaces, where
One may set ones eyes upon the outlook
Contemplate with ease, on the absence
Of that which was most always absent

Available on Kindle

Make Of Me

My uniqueness
Such as it is, at this time
Comes almost entirely from my past
So little of it is gathered from my present

Yet, if in the future
I wish to look back with some satisfaction
On a more unique and creative self
Then it may become equally

As apparent to you
As it becomes crystal clear to me
That I can only achieve that past
By working more uniquely in the present

Available on Kindle