From the morning
To the evening
Folks arriving
Memories leaving
All those words
Spoken even
All those words
Worth believing
By the river
By the stream
Holding hands
Walking, kneeling
With the pink sky
I find the East
Of all the colours
They worry us the least
All of autumn
The beauty season
What I find
Is how we reason
Slowly calling
Somehow teaching
Open days
Still we’re reaching
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
Sunday, 5 May 2019
Saturday, 4 May 2019
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
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
Friday, 3 May 2019
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
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
Thursday, 2 May 2019
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
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
Wednesday, 1 May 2019
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
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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