I was distracted
Distraction for myself
First with Gratefulness
Then with the journal
I was confused
Confusion for myself
First with the news
Then with doubts about capitalism
Most days I would try to write a poem; it is a practice, as I suppose is meditation, or smiling, or watching the world go by
I was distracted
Distraction for myself
First with Gratefulness
Then with the journal
I was confused
Confusion for myself
First with the news
Then with doubts about capitalism
The pleasure
Of a laying down
Half-sleeping
Meditation
On the cusp of waking
From a gentle
Dualistic lover’s dream
To be in the midst
Of nothing
With nothing on one’s mind
To be among nowhere
With nowhere
Being thought about
No roads
Nor railways
Or rivers
No aeroplanes
Nor airborne skaters
Or secrets flying by
The serenity
Of laying
In the half-being
Of a being totally at one
Slowly
The bright sunlight’s reflection
Pitches off of the yard wall
Slowly
The coffee suggests
Black as the images on the screen
And so, from far away
The goalkeeper smiles
Along with his younger brother
And I for one do wish
That in so being
Their love is with you
Blue sky
Rising, arising
Out of the grey
Clear lines
From post to post
All around the green
How would you say
Silent music
Intangible thoughts
Discrepant disturbance
Yet light
As if across the valley
From moor
To vineyard
To cricket square
To the good side
Of the roof
Beyond the spire
I should buy myself flowers
To look at with a smile
Also that their scent fills the room
That I can think, even say
This is for you
You who need your own self-sensitisation