Four Walls

Are these the trappings
A room to oneself
In the middle of the day

A room with French windows
Overlooking a garden
With birdsong and roses

I am also conscious
That I could have painted
The canvasses on these walls

I am though less conscious
Of my purpose; or of
What it is, which draws me here

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Love

There was a table
Now there is no table
Was there a water feature
There is one now
But unkempt, and overgrown

There was laughter
Most supportive
And much appreciated

There were children
Playing hide and seek
Also other games too
Which they had invented
All by themselves

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Change Has Occurred

This time will be different
For now you don’t know
What you bring with you

You don’t know what you seek
Or how you might seek it
Except that contemplation

Yes, contemplating, meditating
That might help, and yes
The writing is a good contribution

So simply to be aware
To take notes, to write down
All of the possibilities

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All Of The Why

Why be here
Why be drawn
To reflect on that time
Of thirteen years ago

Except that
That you believe that that time
Changed you
Took away some of your angst

They let you talk, let you play
Let you become someone
Who for so so long
You had forgotten to be

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Trappist

Cool cool water
Seasonal salad
Mother and daughter
With an Irish ballad

Through black Black Mountain
To pools so still
A spider in the fountain
The end of your rill

Out through the window
On the lightest of breezes
Lay your love low
Take care of the creases

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