Here, Yes, And Now

I am in response and react mode

I read of Toblerone

I remember that I have a Toblerone

So now you find me eating Toblerone

Believe me

I am trying not to try

But if Mr Slingerland

Offers me such chances what am I to do

In another book

By Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi

I see myself as autotelic

I write because I enjoy to write

Believe me

Even though I am not the Austrian lady

Living her iconic free-life, on the slopes

I too do have my freedoms

  

Choices

If I am

The village poseur

If I am

That counterfeit

Of a good man

If I am

How can I change

How can I

If I am not

What I want to be

I read about The Way

By a writer

Who compared this way

With that way, and

That way, as you might guess

With the other way

If I am

To find The Way

How can I

Waste time

With other ways

If I am

To become The Way

How can I

When there are way more paths

Than I need

  

How

I do four things in sequence

1. I put down my book
2. I turn on the source of my music
3. I switch on the kettle
4. I stand, wait, and ruminate

The first is a natural pause

The second is inspired by the first

Three naturally follows on from two

Four is a regular following occurrence

I do four more things in sequence

1. I end my contemplation
2. I brew my coffee
3. I choose the music
4. I pick up my book and read

The first you can imagine for yourself

The second was waiting for one to pour out

The third simply had to happen

Otherwise how else could four have occurred

————————————————————————-

And how could one arrive at a new place

Which feels completely familiar

Trying Not To Try

Edward Slingerland

  

Gamble

As if the nettle

By the footpath

Has any choice

About where it grows

Whereas I, yes I

I can sit on this bench

Dedicated to Jennifer Nelson

A true ‘Country Woman’

Or I could head off

Back to my car

Then into town

To the pharmacy

Or I could take the risk

And not take the diabetes tablets

Or did you think

I was going for something stronger

Such as did

The young reckless motorcyclist

Whose end came way too early

Such a waste, pointless loss

Whereas I, yes I

I sat on the bough

A little longer

I took no risk at all; no, not a one

  

Reasons, Lots

If this was the Hebrides

And if I was on my own

With only the machair, the sand

The sea, and the sky for company

Would I be any more settled

Would I hear different birdsong

Would my thoughts be any more free

To think of other possibilities

You see for sure

This quiet part of Lincolnshire

Gifts me a breeze

Also blue skies with sunshine

So what more

Could South Uist offer

Would I commit

To buying a painting from Volbeda

Will that very long journey

By car, and on board a ferry boat

Deliver up a tiredness

Which is not so easy to shake off

Of course the act of going, and going alone

Is itself quite a statement

Why do I seek solitude

What more does my mind need