Vast Peace

There is time to be made
Slow time
For the writing, for the thinking
This room, in its quietness
Is the place, a place
With a view becoming
A gateway to joyful understanding
For out there all exists
Such that, life
Is open for interpretation

Also, before the window
An interior
A room for reflective monologue
Internal monoliths
Standing stones of thought
With occasional, or more often
Drifts on to the breeze
Just then, just there, you
To seize the auto-grandissement
Of little more than nothing at all


Available on Kindle

Theme For The Evening

Blue sky, blue sea, bold blue horizon; the plume of blue vapours as the aeroplane engines throb into blue motion.

The couple sat in front went straight into their blue bottled vodka, and those vintage crisps with salt wrapped in blue grease-paper

Oliver Reed stood up and began to tell a very blue story, his language blue in the extreme; yet just like lightning blue his mind whizzed along, as if he was Donald Campbell in his blue-streak, or was it blue-bird land-speed record breaking car

The blue suited stewardess asked Oliver to please sit down, in his blue velvet, first class, blue ribbon seat

We landed through the blue haze, over the azure blue sea; Oliver now fast asleep, occasionally twitching, as his blue-movie dreams came closer to life


Available on Kindle

Song For Joni (Mitchell)

You were my coldness
The reason for my old memories
You took me to the sea Blue
You took me to the sky Blue
Is that you swimming now
Wondering how
Skimming stones across the pond
Is it gone, are we saying so long
Cannot the coldness carry on
Are we afraid of loneliness
Might we not grow older together


Available on Kindle

Sunlight & Stream

I don't know where
I don't know why
Such big questions
Such vacant spaces

I was calm
I was quiet
Simply walking
In the wide-open places

I am here to write
I am here to reflect
But I eat cake
And I drink coffee

Yes there was somewhere
Yes there was a past
Yet I don't know where
And I don't honestly know why


Available on Kindle

Analysis

There is a difference
A succinct yet certain distance
Between that thought
Which you seek out to engage
And that other thought, which
Arrives entirely unannounced
A thought, which you have no
Choice, but to listen to

No amount of seeking
Will find this second instance
For it is not of your own making
It is formed by a hundred, or a
Thousand collisions, which all
Must collide at one and the same time

And from such preponderance
The magic dust will somehow be lifted
Lifted from the dust behind the doors
Lifted from the dust beneath the floors
The dust is lifted, before being sifted
Then gifted back to you, as
If it was the very thing you feared


Available on Kindle