Justice lies wandering

Angst

Amid the scream of anger

The pain

Of growing up

The pain of being or becoming

A grown up growing up

Always in the past

Shit

That fucking stuff

Which brings regret

Awkwardness which opens

All those darkened doors

Too far away

And far too close

To see or to feel the love

Tears

And misheard conversations

No words bring justice

Where justice lies wandering

Where hope is left squandering

Or is pushed away completely

Fight or flight

In unselfish persecution

Of self, at best unworthy

Except of blame, shame that

You ever entered

Through life’s wide open door

Cannot love

Ever be left like this

Ever like this be left

Instead

The will of co-ordination

Fingers, just touch on fingers

For this is far too early

Far too early for a full on, come on

Shoulder wrapped embrace

Dare

Of each, and then of each other

Enter always the complicated situations

Engage your care

Back into those deep

Wider than furlong’s furrows

Leave space

Burrowed

With time; with gentleness

Of room for mistakes

And misappropriations

Conserve creation there for to cherish

This love, too far away

Far too close

Just now to see, or even to be seen

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Bright side

Wide-open spaces

Rustle of a breeze

Through timeless grass

Birdsong

In flight

Above, and out, and over

And down-along the meadow

Salt sand lies baking

Cracked earth

On barren beaches

Far reach

To past civilisations

Stationed

In retreat

Hillsides

Rolling down

By green, wheat grass

The corn

Not yet so high

Oh sigh for summer days

Summer days

Laid sideways such as these

Time

To reflect, so

Then to reconnect

With oh so so many

Past

Beginnings

Forgiving

This living, this being alive

With skin

Our closest

Close companion

Here

Beside the

Whitest, the whitest

Wild White Campion

Skin

Cradled around

Your finger

The ring of gold

Of

Past times; last lines

Left to linger

Left, bereft

Or on the bright side

Of so so many memories

Thoughts now to remember

On this quiet, there she goes

Listen to her breeze

Listen to the upside breeze

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He found you (We all know a Buddhist)

You know a Buddhist

I know a Buddhist

Our friends know a Buddhist too

And then the meter reader called

And the meter reader’s time unfolds

Your friend is going to retreat

My friend he retreated too

He took some time to find himself

And there he found you too

And there, and then

He found you too

You know Buddhists

I know Buddhists

Our friends know Buddhists too

And then the text machine of mine I scrolled

And the text machine of time unfolds

Your friend is going to die

It’s all we ever know

He’s arranged the words

For you to say

Upon his dying day

The never-ending words

For you to say

Upon his dying day

You knew a Buddhist

I knew a Buddhist

We all knew Buddhists too

In time the life long rich picture theatre rolled

In time life’s long rich picture’s past unfolds

Your friend is coming by

The day is a slowly opening cocoon

When the butterfly, with dual wings

Emerged beneath the blue sky

Beside the orchid meadow

Our lives of love

They never ever die

They never ever do

You know a Buddhist

I know a Buddhist

We all know Buddhists too

We all know Buddhists too

You know a Buddhist

I know a Buddhist

We all know Buddhists too

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In 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 and souls and stairways unladen

Today the way to play the way that children do

Without the wander or the wonder

Of the wandering wondering

Wandering and wondering, 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 so sleek

That make up most my week

Seeking out the moths

Monoliths and months

Years of generations

Penetrations and separations

Of life lines into lifetimes

To take the pen

The paper and the pencil

To write some thoughts

Some inappropriate gestations

Stations

Which may be met upon the way

Past incarcerations

That may be met beyond the day

Or not, or maybe not

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