Squandered Opportunities

Down the road named thoroughfare

Where to go to

Why, whatever for

Other than in search of self

Beyond bodily behaviours

More than minds meanderings

Reason, for reason’s sake

In this the halfway mid-morning

No room to turn around

There is only forever onwards

Until you come upon a place

Which, without doubt

Is not the very place

That you had in your mind’s eye

Nevertheless it is, or seems to be

The very place where you have landed

But what’s that you say

Only for now, a transit stop

Somewhere on the way

To almost anywhere else in the world

Which, in and of itself

Would still not be the solution

For, without being at rest

There can be no resting place

 

Changes Of Direction

I wanted to be a flâneur

But now think dilettante 

Better suits my purpose

I wanted to be elsewhere

Though now prefer

To stay where I am

If experience is what they say experience is

Have I not already, in my sixty-eighth year

Had more than my fair share

If love, and truth, and beauty

Not forgetting soul, yes soul and spirit

If they are still in the need of finding

Should I not buy a bucket

Or an aeroplane ticket

And get on with it

Just Asking

Why would I assist

If to assist

Is to be argumentative

Why would I lend a hand

If to lend a hand

Is to have the rug pulled out

From beneath one's feet

Time Takes Time

It is July

Not a million miles

From midsummer

Yet the first

Autumnal orange brown leaf

Has appeared on the blossom tree

Time, as they say

Marches on

Today, a day after

This July day

We are on local radio

In support of humanist weddings

I will wait for the quietness

Stay home, alone

With room to roam

Through my mind

Abroad with feelings

Of love and its emotions

In that peace

I might imagine

The leaf in transition

From olive green

Through plum red

To orange brown

Trotternish

I am urged to write

Not knowing

Where the spring rises

Or where the river flows

But there is celebration

The day has gone

Beyond its darkness

Clear light has made an entrance

Books, photographs; framed

To bring a thought

To gift a memory

To recast a pain

How good it is to feel good

To drive beside the loch

On the way to a place

Whose name I can’t remember

Flodigarry, that’s it

I just needed a few moments

Of pure concentration

Then to look out to the island