Balance

That this day I should wake

To feel like doing nothing at all

More to the point

That I should feel altogether capable

Of doing absolutely nothing at all

And here we are, at lunchtime

Still with the confidence, and desire

To do nothing, nothing whatsoever

Meanwhile their scoreboard

Ticks along nicely

Mine, in sublime contrast

Remains perfectly still

And so it goes, on, and on

A full afternoon of doing nothing at all

But, can I make it past tea

Does eating afternoon tea, or dinner, count

As doing nothing at all

Then what of the evening

Watching Nordic Murders

On ALL4 with Walter Presents

I would say, most definitely doing nothing

Indeed going perfectly nowhere at all

 

How?

I have a story that I wish to write

But, I don’t know

If I know how to write it

No, I don’t know

Where my vulnerabilities might take me

Sat Outside

Warm days

Fine grasses

Red-brick houses

Slate roofs

Butterfly

Flying

The length

Of the garden

Friday Through Saturday

In this early morning light

After sharing pleasures of the night

To sojourn with second sight

It seems more than could be my right

Rose petals, falling by the fence

Young love, was there any sense

With passions rising to intense

Was there ever any sitting on the fence

Newark to Kings Cross

All that talk

Of the world coming to an end

Without a speck of common sense

About what we’ve achieved so far

And how much further we can go

To help my cause

Also to shed, or show some optimism

I turn to onbeing.org with Krista Tippett

In conversation with Robert McFarlane

Which I find to be most uplifting