At One

At ease

With the lilac scented flowers

At ease

With Van Morrison’s Scandinavia on the stereo

Settled

After fig slice with coffee

Settled

With presents beneath the tree

Thankful

For the loving-kindness meditation

Thankful

For the family connections

Aware

Of the Christmas tree lights

Aware

That it may be cold outside

 

Still Passions

I have an ability to be lazy

No, no it’s true

My mind is happy when it’s hazy

Or when I see the sea so so blue

I have it in me to be dull

Yes, yes it’s true

My day filled by not being full

Or when I see the bills are due

I have the juices to be a lover

Believe me, the quick-release is true

My body turns on when with another

Or when the silk sheets are left askew

I have the time to bathe in solitude

Have faith, this is so so true

My footsteps slowed on the beach in Bude

Or stopped altogether, in the meditator’s hue

 

Vision

I wasn’t there

But I heard the story

Of the mountain plateau

Covered in mist

Then of the clearing

To show the valley below

Tree trunks surrounded

By ever more of the white stuff

Yet before the photograph

Could be taken

Or words placed on paper

The denser fog fell

Engulfed him; uncertain of the way

Yet with sufficient nouse

To commit the moment to memory

For reminiscing with friends over dinner

 

Returns On Investments

I don’t have time anymore

Now that I have retired

I don’t have time anymore

To write those words of hope

I should have known I suppose

After watching the monastic video

I should have known I suppose

That hope is only for those playing the long game

His smile made me smile

Singing about his pony on his boat

His smile made me smile

A realisation that I too could cope

So step inside his house girl

Listen closely to his song

So step inside his house girl

His song is only for those playing the long game

 

Browse

In passion mango land

Opposite the anti-stress shoe shop

The perfume is in the bag

The jeans are in the bag

The satin slip was bought a while ago

All of this

After a morning at Salts Mill

Stocking up on Hockney stuff

An altogether different kind of culture

Complete with a full English breakfast