I read of transcendence
I write of transcendence
All around me
I have the search for transcendence
Or did we call it transmission
Or was transference our chosen word
Either way
Gather the days of our transcendence
Yet only now, here in the here and the now
Am I able to discover the truth
I read of transcendence
I write of transcendence
All around me
I go along with the search for transcendence
Or as we now call it transmission
Or did we say transference was our word
And in that way
Those were to be days, of the transcendence
Friday, 25 May 2018
Thursday, 24 May 2018
Shag & Oyster Catcher
O just to be
Beside the clouds and the sea
On this fine February day
O to step free
Onto the sands of the lea
On this week of my birthday
O to think on
Of poem and song
As I sketch out these few words
O to be strong
For all that’s gone wrong
As I mention the birds
O they’ve returned
To seas they once spurned
In the years before yesterday
O life so we burn
As if to regular confirm
That the past is in the futures way
Beside the clouds and the sea
On this fine February day
O to step free
Onto the sands of the lea
On this week of my birthday
O to think on
Of poem and song
As I sketch out these few words
O to be strong
For all that’s gone wrong
As I mention the birds
O they’ve returned
To seas they once spurned
In the years before yesterday
O life so we burn
As if to regular confirm
That the past is in the futures way
 |
| Buy for print or kindle on Amazon |
Wednesday, 23 May 2018
As It Is, As It Was
That we should know this place in February
Yet not in the middle of July
That we should shape ourselves for winter
As we wait for summers past to pass us by
The waves turn; turn, then turn again; towards
Wolf Rock, by the beach at Widemouth Bay
That Johnny Cash should be the Spotify song
After your ear wax candle day
That with kindling wood, and firelighters
The wood burner fires up first time this time
We photograph waves, rocks, and pebbles
And other geological formations quite sublime
Adam, and Eve; or at least today’s equivalent
Step up, to stride across the boardwalk
The skies, the clouds, the sun, and snow
Embrace the day, which we mark with chalk
We might be grateful, and thankful
Mindful that we share this spiritual occasion
Not a party; when more came than needed to
And only one channel of television to evade
Yet not in the middle of July
That we should shape ourselves for winter
As we wait for summers past to pass us by
The waves turn; turn, then turn again; towards
Wolf Rock, by the beach at Widemouth Bay
That Johnny Cash should be the Spotify song
After your ear wax candle day
That with kindling wood, and firelighters
The wood burner fires up first time this time
We photograph waves, rocks, and pebbles
And other geological formations quite sublime
Adam, and Eve; or at least today’s equivalent
Step up, to stride across the boardwalk
The skies, the clouds, the sun, and snow
Embrace the day, which we mark with chalk
We might be grateful, and thankful
Mindful that we share this spiritual occasion
Not a party; when more came than needed to
And only one channel of television to evade
Tuesday, 22 May 2018
Who To Turn To
Where are you now my calm sea
Where is it that I will never be
How far to reach from the desert of now
How soon becalmed by the wondering of how
Nothing, or little else to say
No more prescriptions, or hopes to delay
The waves are stilled, from sand to horizon
The smiles, though feint, bring the surprise on
That all will be well some day
Pain will subside for memories to play
To sit in the armchair, listening
To Gregorian chant with thoughts whistling
Without time to stand still, hearing
The ringing, hearing the tunnel of bells
Thinking of that time, in the sauna, on Skye
With a phone call from a friend
Yes, a phone call from a friend
Moving on is what we do, and so
Began the morning poem, lend
Me your time, for I am moving on
Where is it that I will never be
How far to reach from the desert of now
How soon becalmed by the wondering of how
Nothing, or little else to say
No more prescriptions, or hopes to delay
The waves are stilled, from sand to horizon
The smiles, though feint, bring the surprise on
That all will be well some day
Pain will subside for memories to play
To sit in the armchair, listening
To Gregorian chant with thoughts whistling
Without time to stand still, hearing
The ringing, hearing the tunnel of bells
Thinking of that time, in the sauna, on Skye
With a phone call from a friend
Yes, a phone call from a friend
Moving on is what we do, and so
Began the morning poem, lend
Me your time, for I am moving on
Monday, 21 May 2018
Collector’s Items
It is my old painful body
It is my tired forgetful soul
It is my mind
With recent short-fall of memory
Which sees the horizon
But misses the sea
Soothed, by a meditation mantra
Uninhibited by the flashing light
Which signifies no internet connection
I have pastels
I have pen and ink
I have the Atlantic at my window
I have an old birthday card
Which was never sent
For it also had deeper meaning
It is my tired forgetful soul
It is my mind
With recent short-fall of memory
Which sees the horizon
But misses the sea
Soothed, by a meditation mantra
Uninhibited by the flashing light
Which signifies no internet connection
I have pastels
I have pen and ink
I have the Atlantic at my window
I have an old birthday card
Which was never sent
For it also had deeper meaning
|
| Buy for print or kindle on Amazon |
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)