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Sunday, 27 December 2020

Then, Now, Then

Remember who you were

Remember who you are


Another olive falls to the floor

A few more leaves

Are blown across the tiles

Two small trees, of an unknown variety 

Sit in their pots


Remember who you were

Remember who you are

All of those places

Which you came from


All of those times

Where you arrive from

Remember who you are

Remember who you were


Another olive falls to the floor

A few more leaves

Are blown over the tiles

Two small trees, of an unknown variety

Sit in their pots


Remember who you are

Remember who you were



Saturday, 26 December 2020

Threshold

How quiet does one have to be

To reach that silent space

Or that place of boundless ego

Yet also to have been here

In the there, in the then


To sit in the spa yard

To follow the leaf with the eye

Thread thoughts

Of nothing going nowhere

Beside the still so so settled pool

Almost found, almost at one


How far does one have to go

To reach that place beyond

Or that place before

Yet also to be there

In the here, in the now


To walk on the peat moor

To squelch in the bog

Wipe the fast-falling snowflakes

From the worried brow

Watch the gushing stream

Almost lost, almost home



Friday, 25 December 2020

Constructs

How might I

Rebuild this courtyard

In my own home


How may I

Recreate a sense of calm

In my own home


How might we

Build onto our home

To say, be here


How may we

Give space, give life

To our imaginations


How might you

Come, or go

Just as you please


How may you

Effect, affect

Such concrete solutions



Thursday, 24 December 2020

Life Balance

The olive

The tiny leaf

The large leaf

Their present life

Brought to an end


Detached from the food source

They will without doubt decay


Maybe to be turned into compost

Or become lost in the landfill

As may these few words

Which I, yes, maybe only I

Choose to call a poem



Wednesday, 23 December 2020

Sense

I touch the olive to the leaf

I smile

This day has hidden me from grief


I see his photograph on the book

He smiles

This day has opened up, to take a second look


I invoke an atmosphere almost mute

We smile

This day spa, has one neatly active water chute