Eighty Five

A cup of tea
A check of the timepiece
Study the roof fan
Study the blinds

Wait
For the light to unfold
Wait
For nature to craft the day

Sit with your silence
Sit with your joy
Bathe in your solitude
Celebrate your love

As you sit
One other departs
Yes, as you sit
Someone else says goodbye

With that
Comes the blue sky
With your leaving
Her life is left behind

In this quiet place
In this Quaker hall
Solid, reliable
Safe, strong

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Eighty Four

First light
Last day
Quaker Hotel
Deer rutting

Deer calling
Heard
Through open
Bedroom windows

Otherwise quiet
Quiet on the tarn
Quiet on the hilltop
Quiet at the lakeside

In the
Mock wicker chair
In the, is it real?
Conservatory

Before morning meditation
Before others rise
A time of temptation
Or simply one to surmise

How blessed we are
How fortunate to be
Let us care for this time
Let us continue to prosper

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Eighty Three

We hobnob
With the glitterati
In the Poet’s Cafe
At the Artisan’s Bar

Then sit outside
In the autumn sun
With carrot cake
And a pot of tea

Today’s word was Joy
The first word
Which I heard
Passing on the stairs

I have my mind
I can choose to change it
First to watch it
Then to rearrange

Turn away from delusions
Towards the virtuous
Develop a positive mind
Strong, resilient

Small steps at first
One at a time
Observe, witness
Visualise, change

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Eighty Two

We hobbled over
Those nobbled
Cobbled stones
As the white water
Pitched, bobbled

In the middle
Of the stream
He sits on a rock
Posing, to have
His photograph taken

The water
Makes quite a racket
Nowhere near as quiet
As the mouse
In the Tibetan meditation room

Either way
Even with such
Never-ending movement
There is a stillness
To the moment, to the day

No need now for wobble
Or for feeling wobbly
Cobbled together stories
Of past lives, present lives
All of what there is, going forwards

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Eighty One

A footpath
Of cobbled stone
With granite slate
All maintained
By the National Trust

The camera says
It’s had enough
So these here words
Will have to suffice
To describe the view

Bums on boulders
Feet on ferns
Sandwiches
In the plastic bag
(Biodegradable)

The gill
For that is why
We have ventured off-road
It is as white as sour milk
Hence the name

Across the way
Higher, then higher still
Up there on the summit
Matchstick Men
In the style of LS Lowrie

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