Ampleforth

It is the singing of the monks
Which reminds me today of your gracious space
For I am hundreds of miles away
On the journey to horse racing at Goodwood

Meanwhile my partner swims in a lake
In the Carcassonne region of France
And others who I might also wish to think about
Well they are more distant
Yes in so many ways they are far more distant

So it is to your place which I return
To stand again in the breath of your silence
To engage or to let go
During my morning meditation

As I ponder on visiting the sculpture gardens
And remember that time before
When the gates were locked and all we could do
Was to imagine what might lay within
Or to contemplate on what might stand beyond

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Breeze

Around the legs
Of the newly painted garden chair
Around the legs
Of the man now in shorts again
After sixty years of long trousers

Around and through
The trees of the old orchard
Around and through (almost)
The ageing overgrown pampas grass
And the recently planted silver birch

Over and below
The aeroplanes and the helicopters
Over and below
The few cotton strands of clouds
And the vast expanse of clear blue sky

In front of and behind
The face and head of the meditator
In front of and behind
The curly locks of one who contemplates
And says thanks says many thanks for the morning breeze

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Release

I am letting go
I am loosening up
And then the smoke alarm goes off
I am downloading
I am uploading
Then I get a chair to stand on to reset the alarm
I am hopeful
Until I get a message
There is a broken pipe the upload has failed
I may well have to start all over again
But at least the download is completed
So I can turn away from the laptop
And reboot the desktop computer
Such that Kate's iPod might be updated
Having been out of use for a few weeks
Whilst we waited for the special connector
Required to connect her music
To the new German car
iTunes is ready apparently
Although the iPod still needs to charge
Itself also having been out of use for a few weeks
So now I am in limbo
And all that's left able to be done
Is to finish off this now downbeat poem
Which in truth started life so full of hope

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Roar

The overwhelming roar
Of the aeroplane which overcomes
The gentle sound of Tibetan Bells

That long lasting drone
Which vibrates as if for ever
Thus disturbing my meditation

Yet I am not on a flight path
To anywhere in particular
Indeed if to anywhere at all

But still the noises are up there
So someone must be going somewhere
Though for sure it isn't me

For I am here and I am sitting
Letting the thoughts just come and go
On this sunshine Monday morning

Where I now try to tune into the heavens
Or at least to the hum of those silver bullets
Which thrash about the jet-streamed skies

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So

So I always sound the same
So you say I always sound the same
Yes you do say you do always sound the same

Always with that same tone
Always with that same expression
Always with the words mostly the same

So I always sing the song of love
So you say I always sing the song of love
Yes you do say you do always sing the song of love

Always with that same desire
Always with that same devotion
Always with the obsession mostly the same

So I always hold the same rhythm
So you say I always hold the same rhythm
Yes you do say you do always hold the same rhythm

Always with that same beat
Always with that same fluid flow
Always with the sensual-sexuality mostly the same

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