Some things I know
Some things I don’t
Some things I’ll do
Some things I won’t
I breathe in
Into the present moment
I breathe out
All of my distractions
Some paths I’ll walk
Straight and true
Along the ridges
Where nothing’s new
I breathe myself in
Into the present moment
I breathe myself out
Out with all my distractions
Some words I hear
Clear, thin
Spreading the message
Drawing me in
Most days I would try to write a poem; it is a practice, as I suppose is meditation, or smiling, or watching the world go by
Thursday, 25 April 2019
Wednesday, 24 April 2019
Seventy Five
He lies beneath the tree
His crutches leant against
His mobility scooter
He has told me his story
Or a small part of it
Which resonates
His knees are raised
Perhaps this is a more
Comfortable position
He is in the shade
Which maybe also helps
Does he contemplate
On death
Does he meditate
On life
Is his despair
A thing I have never known
He is a musician
That is
I know he plays guitar
He smiles, he laughs
He makes me
Smile, and laugh
He has a spirit
Which is infectious
He has a story
Which he dared to tell
His crutches leant against
His mobility scooter
He has told me his story
Or a small part of it
Which resonates
His knees are raised
Perhaps this is a more
Comfortable position
He is in the shade
Which maybe also helps
Does he contemplate
On death
Does he meditate
On life
Is his despair
A thing I have never known
He is a musician
That is
I know he plays guitar
He smiles, he laughs
He makes me
Smile, and laugh
He has a spirit
Which is infectious
He has a story
Which he dared to tell
Tuesday, 23 April 2019
Seventy Four
There is geometry
In the trellis
There is repetition
Along the front of the house
Roses, a robin
I have nothing to offer
I have no gifts to give
Repetition is at the front of my mind
Old branches; bent, disfigured
I am no gardener
I am no tree surgeon
Repetition is all I know
Hot coffee, without sugar
I did not train as a Barista
I did not warm the cup before
Repetition, oh how I need to find you
White flower, slowly opens
I am not always so so observant
I am not always so so well seeing
Repetition may you be with me, may you
In the trellis
There is repetition
Along the front of the house
Roses, a robin
I have nothing to offer
I have no gifts to give
Repetition is at the front of my mind
Old branches; bent, disfigured
I am no gardener
I am no tree surgeon
Repetition is all I know
Hot coffee, without sugar
I did not train as a Barista
I did not warm the cup before
Repetition, oh how I need to find you
White flower, slowly opens
I am not always so so observant
I am not always so so well seeing
Repetition may you be with me, may you
Monday, 22 April 2019
Seventy Three
So I smile
As I let you rise
So I laugh
As I let you fall
So with hope
I let you rise
So with grace
I let you fall
So with no struggle
You rise
So with no regret
You fall
So with little doubt
Rise
So with little fear
Fall
So
So
So
So
As I let you rise
So I laugh
As I let you fall
So with hope
I let you rise
So with grace
I let you fall
So with no struggle
You rise
So with no regret
You fall
So with little doubt
Rise
So with little fear
Fall
So
So
So
So
Sunday, 21 April 2019
Seventy Two
These are the evening primroses
Which I saw open for the first time
The wall
The bench
The poets
The dusk
The evening primroses
This is the emblem of one life of survival
Such a gift, such a place
The blue sky
The thirty degrees
The birdsong
The high noon
The evening primroses
That such certainty should emerge
From such uncertain, troubled times
The mind
The body
The heart
The soul
The evening primroses
Which I saw open for the first time
The wall
The bench
The poets
The dusk
The evening primroses
This is the emblem of one life of survival
Such a gift, such a place
The blue sky
The thirty degrees
The birdsong
The high noon
The evening primroses
That such certainty should emerge
From such uncertain, troubled times
The mind
The body
The heart
The soul
The evening primroses
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