After The Beginning

Why are there so so many mistakes

Do I need to proofread

Again and again and again

Yet why to make the mistakes

In the first place

Is it through a lack of concentration

Should I slow down the writing process

Oh, but that book

That was written using a different method

So, then the voice recording

Becomes a necessary step

Before publication

A final editing tool

To makes as best a job

As I, on my own, can possibly can

This will be the first book

To follow the three step system

Write, type, voice record, type right

 

In The Beginning

This is the quiet hour

There may be many

The hour of half light

The hour of half thought

That beauty resides

In the view through the trees bare branches

That beauty decides

In the peaceful quiet of inactivity

Such that it is the tea, the chair

Which provides the welcome

Which says, please sit down

Be aware of your breath

Be aware of how your mind travels

In small steps, in giant leaps

Be mindful of the floorboards creaking

Of another life making moves

This is the beginning of a second hour

With the joy of a shared pot of tea

As one prepares oneself

For the pleasures of bathing

 

Exercise

The kettle has boiled

Time to make coffee

But first to watch the Bose video

Showing off their latest must have listening device

Oh boy am I a soft touch for gadgets

Or flights

To warmer climates, indeed anything

Which promises a feel good factor

Because, why because

Because Christmas is over

The outdoor lights have been brought in

The indoor lights have been packed away

All of those temporary installations

Put aside for another year

Yes, I have put Lyle Lovett on iTunes

Spoke with my eldest son on FaceTime

But of course, why but of course

Of course I have to shape my own direction

Stand up more often, way more often

In a New Year of posture, not postulation

 

Crossed Continents

I was in Stockholm

But not on New Year’s Eve

I did see men fishing

Outside Parliament House

Also I browsed the market stalls

Of the archipelago craft traders

I have settled myself

With these few words

The turbulent times, they are in the past

Except that is in the memory

I did you see have the emptiness moment

On the steps of that Scandinavian berthed yacht

Only to find that in actual fact I was here

At home, on our Harris Tweed settee

Allowing my mind to roam, to wander

Not even thinking

That it might wobble

To return to where I thought I had already left

 

Look Out

Where might I find you

Where have I not sought you out before

How might I remind you

Where you could look to find my door

These are the days, there are many of them

Where I may go out in search of you

These are the days, there are many among them

Where I may wonder what happened to you

I do not go to that place so so often

Where I find the here, and the now

I do not go to that space so so often

As when I found the here, among the now

Thoughts of footprints walk around me

From the beaches to the stars of the plough

Thoughts of footprints now astound me

As from the beaches I tow the stars of the plough

Where then might I find you

Where I have not sought you out before

How then might I remind you

Where you may enter through my open door