It feels good to be on higher ground
It feels good to think of you, loving me
For now I can take in the vast horizon
I can countenance the cold wind
Ruffling my hair, and my papers
I can believe that, yes
Those rainclouds may bring rain
But not until the shafts of sunlight
On that faraway, seaward, elliptical skyline
Have lit up our day
No, neither the dull of the decaying ferns
Nor the white-death of the bramble
Can hold back the excitement
Nor the energy
Of the future
For the man who has found love
Wednesday, 2 October 2019
Tuesday, 1 October 2019
Negative Potential (Without Power)
To put myself out there, alone
With the environmental waveforms
Circulating and vibrating, to the tune
Of the exponentially raw passion
Such that in the search for this apparent stillness
It is the search for the unseen which is seen
It is the search for the not felt which is felt
Felt mostly by oneself
It is the beat
Of the bouncing psycho-rhythms
Which cycle through my body
Then, as one ventures, into the lower reaches
Those deeper features
Of love, of loss, of leverage, and of latitude
Which criss-cross, and zig-zag their way
Over, and beyond, and before the gratitude
Such that to find a balance, in the stillness
To find a calm, in the seen, and in the unseen
To find love, felt or not felt is one job of a thing
One job of a thing, to be left all unto itself
With the environmental waveforms
Circulating and vibrating, to the tune
Of the exponentially raw passion
Such that in the search for this apparent stillness
It is the search for the unseen which is seen
It is the search for the not felt which is felt
Felt mostly by oneself
It is the beat
Of the bouncing psycho-rhythms
Which cycle through my body
Then, as one ventures, into the lower reaches
Those deeper features
Of love, of loss, of leverage, and of latitude
Which criss-cross, and zig-zag their way
Over, and beyond, and before the gratitude
Such that to find a balance, in the stillness
To find a calm, in the seen, and in the unseen
To find love, felt or not felt is one job of a thing
One job of a thing, to be left all unto itself
Monday, 30 September 2019
Sat (Without Silence)
There is no bench to sit upon
To look directly at the back of the Abbey
Though I am able to tell you
That by turning slightly, and looking over my shoulder
I can see the substantial, gold-leaf, clock fingers
Which, even from this distance, I can make out
That they are saying that it is just after eleven-thirty
On this, fine, one might even say exquisite
Autumnal Saturday Morning
Of course there is noise, even the great Abbeys
Need the service of stand-by-generators
For those times of electricity power cuts
Once it might have been a water-driven turbine
Situated on the surging River Dart
Which flows alongside fairly briskly
But then, with such propensity
Of trees and fallen leaves
One might have thought
That a champion of biodiversity
Could have hatched a quieter form
Of extraction, extrapolation, and exploitation
Whatever, the birds still chirp and chatter
Enquiring children
Ask their parents all manner of questions
Some of which, the monks
Who will also have sat here
Would no doubt have been able to answer
With their very own
One hopes, well thought out
And ever more dignified, soulful responses
To look directly at the back of the Abbey
Though I am able to tell you
That by turning slightly, and looking over my shoulder
I can see the substantial, gold-leaf, clock fingers
Which, even from this distance, I can make out
That they are saying that it is just after eleven-thirty
On this, fine, one might even say exquisite
Autumnal Saturday Morning
Of course there is noise, even the great Abbeys
Need the service of stand-by-generators
For those times of electricity power cuts
Once it might have been a water-driven turbine
Situated on the surging River Dart
Which flows alongside fairly briskly
But then, with such propensity
Of trees and fallen leaves
One might have thought
That a champion of biodiversity
Could have hatched a quieter form
Of extraction, extrapolation, and exploitation
Whatever, the birds still chirp and chatter
Enquiring children
Ask their parents all manner of questions
Some of which, the monks
Who will also have sat here
Would no doubt have been able to answer
With their very own
One hopes, well thought out
And ever more dignified, soulful responses
Sunday, 29 September 2019
Nothing (Without Anything)
It is oh so so difficult
To remember you
When you offer nothing whatsoever in return
Though, as if coming here
To sit beside falling water
Would do anything, but add
To the sorrow of separation
I once was a complicated soul
Yet, right now, I don't believe
That I ever did deny that
Although, yes, you might well say
That I have become
Even more deeply enamoured
With the after-effects of duplicity
In my attempts at creative writing
But, inside
I feel to be a somewhat gentler soul
You see, I am happy
To sit here beside the river
To know that somewhere behind me
The star-shaped leaves
Are drifting, like angels, to the ground below
To let everyone know
That once our love most definitely touched
What oh so so many modern dreamers
Today still dream of
To remember you
When you offer nothing whatsoever in return
Though, as if coming here
To sit beside falling water
Would do anything, but add
To the sorrow of separation
I once was a complicated soul
Yet, right now, I don't believe
That I ever did deny that
Although, yes, you might well say
That I have become
Even more deeply enamoured
With the after-effects of duplicity
In my attempts at creative writing
But, inside
I feel to be a somewhat gentler soul
You see, I am happy
To sit here beside the river
To know that somewhere behind me
The star-shaped leaves
Are drifting, like angels, to the ground below
To let everyone know
That once our love most definitely touched
What oh so so many modern dreamers
Today still dream of
Saturday, 28 September 2019
Gathering (Without Departing)
In that instant
Of hearing that sweet voice
Then I too
Wanted to sing
I too
Wanted to be able
To express
My joy with this life
A nun
With her iPad
She was the first person
Into Conventual Mass
I had watched her
Walk across the concourse
In the first light
Of the brand new day
The bells tolled
Close to the gathering time
And I remembered
My last time of leaving this place
I had heard then their welcoming sound
Though at quite some distance
For I loaded my car
And oh, I so so ignominiously departed
I did not know then that I might return
But I have
And I may do so again
And again
Of hearing that sweet voice
Then I too
Wanted to sing
I too
Wanted to be able
To express
My joy with this life
A nun
With her iPad
She was the first person
Into Conventual Mass
I had watched her
Walk across the concourse
In the first light
Of the brand new day
The bells tolled
Close to the gathering time
And I remembered
My last time of leaving this place
I had heard then their welcoming sound
Though at quite some distance
For I loaded my car
And oh, I so so ignominiously departed
I did not know then that I might return
But I have
And I may do so again
And again
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