I Am Lightweight

Last night I watched
Jiska Rickels’ film 4 Elements

I am now able to tell you
That I personally have no desire
To be a forest firefighter
Or a deep sea fisherman
Neither a miner in Germany
Or anywhere else for that matter
Finally, I would not wish
To undertake the training necessary
To become a space astronaut

I am happy to write
From the comfort of my armchair
Or to make a sketch, in a coffee shop
Yes I am ok to say
How I wish that Mrs Thatcher
Had not closed down the mines
And the shipyards
But I would not wish my sons
Nor I, to be in those professions

Available from Amazon

On Being Told Not To Interfere

I come back to this room
I come back to this room
Where a few minutes ago
I was listening to David Whyte

Listening to David Whyte read his poetry
As well as him telling a fine tale
About himself, and John O’Donohue
Talking of to go against yourself

Go against yourself - a neat Irish phrase
And, or so it seems to me
One not entirely at odds with
Being told not to interfere

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Thoughts That Do Not Waiver

Still to love
The one you love
Even though that love
May be unrequited

For they too
Cannot truly see that thought
When they think
That they no longer love you

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Waking, As If Rapidly Dreaming

A cheap choc-ice
A Christmas card
For the benefit
Of retired jockeys

A piping hot
Cup of tea
And the wood-burner
So so fully alight

Such a rush
Out of the evening nap
Such a world
To break into, or out of

Taken to ones doze
With words about William Wordsworth
With words about Thomas A Clarke
With words about Frank O’Hara

Such a literary stroll
Towards the light sleep
Such a poetic saunter
To those moments of grace

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The Philosophy Of Freedom

I cannot watch my thought
Rudolf Steiner says so
Yet I can watch the dust mote fall
Through the air as I write this

Yes I am able, to watch, and to write
At almost one and the same time
Yet, to view that thought just then about you
No, no that is no longer possible

I could go back further in time
Maybe find a photograph for reference
Yet however strong the concentration
That thought, in real time, would not be visible

Yes I could imagine walking, on firm rippled sands
Even to be running, towards the Machair, in the rain
Yet, as I think I thought these thoughts
I cannot see my own thought processes

I will myself, to make certain things happen
And already you may know where this is going
Yet it seems that I cannot help myself
No matter that I cannot see through to the thought

Yes, nostalgia may interrupt, or interject
Messages might arise from deeply buried memories
Yet no amount of persistence, or even shadow boxing
Will let the ether of me, see the fading thought of you

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