we all have our gurus
our mentors in wisdom
mine for the moment
are rupert and adam
eckhart and david
and not forgetting
thich nhat hahn
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
we all have our gurus
our mentors in wisdom
mine for the moment
are rupert and adam
eckhart and david
and not forgetting
thich nhat hahn
the man who gardens
is the man who plans
the man who writes
is the man who records
the man
who records his plans
is the man
who finds his way to love
he wasn’t aware
if his vertebrae
stacked up straight
or if all of his disks
were truly in line
but what he did know
was that love
would play a part
in the telling of this story
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Sea cold coca cola
Salt and Asti Spumante
Champagne supernova
Big blue Atlantic sea
There’s burger and there’s onions
There are barbecues for free
Away from mother Meavy
Down at Godrevy
There’s mother’s flying kites
With ladders in their tights
Its natures might
This big blue Atlantic Sea
Sun’s been up for hours
Though it’s the going down I’ve come to see
I’m captured by the guileless wonder
Of Godrevy’s big blue Atlantic sea
We’re dealing with the wonderment
It’s more than just a breeze
This rock face is shorn
By the waves of scorn
It’s more than just a breeze
That last cigarette, a simple bet
It’s more than just a breeze
This habit worn
For years forlorn
It’s more than just a wheeze