Tiffany lamps in the windows

Tiffany lamps in the windows

Linen fragrance in the diffusers

Skin and bone in the trousers

Where might my mind be going

What is to be the contemplation

Now the mood is set and the music plays

I honestly don’t have any explanation

I don’t know if I ever do have

So, one step at a time, I keep going

The search is not for direction

Although a tune or two would be good

Some sort of guidance for the writing

If instead left to struggle

Working without a working light

Working out without working

I honestly can’t say

In truth I never was told

Or so the story goes 

I take myself off

I take myself off

It is a pleasure of mine

Sometimes, when reading

A place will come to mind

And in a flash I am there

Breathing in the beauty

Not always is the place a place

Sometimes a person, with a perfume

Earlier, while reading Trying Not To Try

I flashed back to Madhyamaka

A Buddhist institution

A favourite of many visits

But tomorrow, yes

Where might tomorrow take me

 

Sat in my turning chair

 Sat in my turning chair

Turning things over

Over time I turn things

Before I let them settle

Scared by the dream I had

Booking into an hotel

Wearing only a towel

After being refused at a B&B

Fearful of being left

To fend for myself

Rocking at the thought

Of such hopeless exposure

I would travel

I would travel

Half-way

Around the world

To then travel

That whole half-way

Back again

I would listen

To Peter Gabriel

Over

And over again

One day

I might find a rhythm

For a song of my own 

Sunlight, and shadows

Sunlight, and shadows

Interstellar overdrive

Method in the meadows

What turns life to live

Crystals in the windows

Stillness still to decide

Reflections over glass bowls

What turns past times to pride

Bright light over shoulder

Stain glass on the side

Awkward on the boulder

What sinks love on the slide