Otherness

Insufficient sounds
Voices as a racket
Hatches of tired imaginations
Fascinated by the newness
Bagging all of the beauty

How easily the mood changes
One more moment of walking
This time for the real one
This time without improvisation
A total absence of creation

Insufficient bounds
Sailing upon steam-packets
Catches of breath's paginations
Animated by the shrewd
Nagging to undo

How much harder; doubt
Dulls the thoughts now aged
This time for the real one
This time without a guide
To the left-field of light

Available on Kindle

Once One by One

I wrote of the moment
I could think of nothing better
To set out the good times
And mail you the letter

I wrote of the fountains
And the rampant sea breezes
I wrote of the ramble
And your ever loving squeezes

I looked through the doorway
Onto a mirror of light
I looked to the floor-way
And remembered what might

I heard the birds chatter
As if by the shielings
Love is that fact of matter
Beside the potato peelings

Today I hope
You care for the letter
My heart hoped yesterday
Je ne regrettez

Available on Kindle

Down The Garden (Sunday Morning)

Enough distance to give distance
Enough wind to ruffle the sea
Enough willow to still the mind

Looking out on bending grass
Looking out on those breaking free
Looking out on sunlight & shadow

The mind is heavy
The body is heavy
The soul can't quite steady itself

There is bird noise
In and among the birdsong
There is physical discomfort
Astride the comfort of the pen

Heaven knows so few clouds
Across the blue sky
Heaven knows so proud
Just to settle down

Available on Kindle

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