I saw images
Call them visualisations if you will
Indescribable objectivity
Shrouded in mists
With several layers of substance, and shadows
A monochrome display
Yet with tone
Yes with lots of tones
Tones to set the spirits dancing
Tones to bring the meditation to life
A meditation on love
A meditation on breathing
A meditation on those most important words
I am here for you my love
Darling, I am here for you now
I was in the present moment
The suns heat warmed my painful shoulder
I was sat before the thriving plum tree
Which I had rescued a few winters past
Whose fruit was now coming to fruition
Saturday, 16 December 2017
Friday, 15 December 2017
BBB Poem 34
He did not mean to complain
In point of fact he did not complain
He simply made an accurate observation
However, his life was a life lived in pain
And so it was not unnatural
For his first thoughts to be thoughts of pain
In that idyll, in that peaceful village
His home, for many a year now
And hers too, for only a few years less
A togetherness of life, of a life lived together
Yet all the while his limitations limited
His adventures, his day by day adventures
The doctor called by, but now travels widely
His friend, and her partner, had called by
But they had not returned, not yet returned
Which he was sure they had promised to do
But of course they led very busy lives
With families, friends, and circles of society
He did not mean to sound bitter
In point of fact he did not sound bitter
He was matter of fact, straight to the point
However his life had minimal visitations
And so it was not at all surprising
For his first thoughts to be of a relaxant
With easement, in this place of inhaled calm
His passage, his journey was partly fulfilled
And hers too, to see him freed from suffering
This was, a thought out, measurement of life
A considered measurement, made together
Because always their minds remained creative
In point of fact he did not complain
He simply made an accurate observation
However, his life was a life lived in pain
And so it was not unnatural
For his first thoughts to be thoughts of pain
In that idyll, in that peaceful village
His home, for many a year now
And hers too, for only a few years less
A togetherness of life, of a life lived together
Yet all the while his limitations limited
His adventures, his day by day adventures
The doctor called by, but now travels widely
His friend, and her partner, had called by
But they had not returned, not yet returned
Which he was sure they had promised to do
But of course they led very busy lives
With families, friends, and circles of society
He did not mean to sound bitter
In point of fact he did not sound bitter
He was matter of fact, straight to the point
However his life had minimal visitations
And so it was not at all surprising
For his first thoughts to be of a relaxant
With easement, in this place of inhaled calm
His passage, his journey was partly fulfilled
And hers too, to see him freed from suffering
This was, a thought out, measurement of life
A considered measurement, made together
Because always their minds remained creative
Thursday, 14 December 2017
BBB Poem 33
I bring my own sounds
To counteract the hammer, to overwhelm
The nails, the hedge trimmer, the rolling along
Of the waste collection bins
I bring Bubbling Spring
To enhance the jazz
Of suburban urban living
I ask focussed noise, to disperse random noise
And now the industrial scale
Garden vacuum machine is set to work
Picking up, or blowing away
All of the fallen foliage of the summer
Would that I could build
A super-strength sound insular summer house
Or an equally peaceful meditation chapel
O would that I could do so many things
For a moment there the breeze took hold
Ruffled the hair over my forehead
Cleared away a cloud; the light came through
Gave me my very own patch of peace
My daughter messaged; could she stay over
Bring my two grandchildren for the weekend
Before the bank holiday; if the weather is
Promising, maybe we could go to Cleethorpes!
To counteract the hammer, to overwhelm
The nails, the hedge trimmer, the rolling along
Of the waste collection bins
I bring Bubbling Spring
To enhance the jazz
Of suburban urban living
I ask focussed noise, to disperse random noise
And now the industrial scale
Garden vacuum machine is set to work
Picking up, or blowing away
All of the fallen foliage of the summer
Would that I could build
A super-strength sound insular summer house
Or an equally peaceful meditation chapel
O would that I could do so many things
For a moment there the breeze took hold
Ruffled the hair over my forehead
Cleared away a cloud; the light came through
Gave me my very own patch of peace
My daughter messaged; could she stay over
Bring my two grandchildren for the weekend
Before the bank holiday; if the weather is
Promising, maybe we could go to Cleethorpes!
Wednesday, 13 December 2017
BBB Poem 32
The love was too strong
It hid all the sufferances
The love went on too long
It followed the circumferences
Why would I write that
Why would I construct
Or record these utterances
Why would I want you to know
The chances that I'd taken
The hopes and the undulations
The love was too tough
It bid all the challenges
The love became too rough
It wallowed in the imbalances
Why would I write to you
Why would I deduct
Or inform the dalliances
Why would I share this
The images that were torn
As I stripped back the valances
The love was real
It undid all the differences
The love was to feel
To re-open the sufferances
It hid all the sufferances
The love went on too long
It followed the circumferences
Why would I write that
Why would I construct
Or record these utterances
Why would I want you to know
The chances that I'd taken
The hopes and the undulations
The love was too tough
It bid all the challenges
The love became too rough
It wallowed in the imbalances
Why would I write to you
Why would I deduct
Or inform the dalliances
Why would I share this
The images that were torn
As I stripped back the valances
The love was real
It undid all the differences
The love was to feel
To re-open the sufferances
Tuesday, 12 December 2017
BBB Poem 31
I go out into the garden
In the fresh morning air
But where has my zafu gone
I must have misplaced it
I feel the cooler breeze
Over my skin, under my linen shirt
I listen to the album Atomos
By Winged victory for the sullen
Are you searching for something
Which I do not give to you
Are you quietly saying to me
That we each have our own past lives
Are you leaning, as the plum tree leans
Towards the light, towards the sun
Towards the source of growth
Is it more growth which you crave
The concert hall in Los Angeles
Is not lost to me, although
The music that evening was not special
But I do have a CD to remind me
Of the visitation of angels, which was
A place, at that particular moment in time
Where I often lost myself, or where
I allowed my mind to wander in joy
My past is almost unapproachable now
I guess that is why I am still writing
That is why I sit out in the garden
To gather the splinters from a past life
In the fresh morning air
But where has my zafu gone
I must have misplaced it
I feel the cooler breeze
Over my skin, under my linen shirt
I listen to the album Atomos
By Winged victory for the sullen
Are you searching for something
Which I do not give to you
Are you quietly saying to me
That we each have our own past lives
Are you leaning, as the plum tree leans
Towards the light, towards the sun
Towards the source of growth
Is it more growth which you crave
The concert hall in Los Angeles
Is not lost to me, although
The music that evening was not special
But I do have a CD to remind me
Of the visitation of angels, which was
A place, at that particular moment in time
Where I often lost myself, or where
I allowed my mind to wander in joy
My past is almost unapproachable now
I guess that is why I am still writing
That is why I sit out in the garden
To gather the splinters from a past life
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