I hear the sheep
I smell the morning grass
I feel the wind
I smile at the sunrise
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 watch a web being woven
It’s a steady start to the day
The dew on the grass glistens
As I listen to the geese
Fly low over the water
On the opposite hillside
Sheep move orderly
From one field into the other
In the meditation room
There is a breeze to my shoulder
Outside a wind rustles through the leaves
Eyes moving along the horizon
From the dark of night
To the bright light of day
The trees begin as pitch, pitch-black
Gradually turning, or developing
Into a quite brilliant late summer’s green
Overnight
At Gloucester Docks
After afternoon in the sun
At SWFC
Now
In the four-poster room
Looking out
To sheep on the hillside
Outside, below the tall windows
The noise of conversation
Silence begins
At nine pm
Then
To wake to the sound
Of the ringing bell
Before Qigong on the lawn
A pair of blow torches
Signed by Veritas
Well worn chair cushions
Bearing the name Pro Bono
A glass of hand pulled beer
Black Sheep back by customer’s request
Time ticks, and takes away the minutes
Before the ringing of the bell