why are you weeping?
the music of water sings to the stars
and falls to the earth in the rains
seek out the rainbow
satisfy thirst
rest when the sun sinks in the west
the fire is still lit in the hearth
night becomes day soon enough
we are made of water and stardust
we must go with the flow
water will find it’s own course
nothing will stand in the way
dry all your tears and shine
open your heart to the source
Poetry
The Cow Chorus
i have found cows to be very sympathetic creatures and so enjoyed reading this
There are a number of fields not far from my home that have cows in for all, or part of the year. It’s not unusual to hear the cows of an evening. However, lockdown and reduced traffic noise have cast this in a rather different light for me.
It’s become obvious, walking in the evenings, that the cows are calling to each other. With far less traffic noise, it has become obvious that the evening cow calls are conversational. You can hear cows from one herd call and then a response from somewhere else – perhaps miles away. The sounds cows make turn out to travel well over distances when they don’t have much to compete with.
I suppose it’s possible that the different herds have been able to hear each other all along, but I suspect not. I have no idea what the hearing capacity of a cow is…
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The Big Floyd (in memorial of Chris)
start the engines
clear skies
time to fly
sunshine blue
on the wings
rising fast
stratosphere
don’t ask why
have no fear
nothing real
is as it seems
pass the gulf
look back to earth
we’re flying clear
take control
start the dream
my soul is high
my heart is wide
feel the love
there’s no divide
swim
so strange this feeling of separation
locked in a bottle gazing out
floating on a shelf where you placed me
fixed in time, preserved perfection
can’t grow, explore or breath
uncork me, pour me out
a river will flow around you
an ocean of endless love
where the surf rises high
on the evening tide
swim with me
home at last
There they go
there they go
in the street,
walking shoulder to shoulder,
this man thinking
it will soon be over,
this man killing his friend
Day 30 – Entrenched Opposition
You, foot soldiers,
who yell from your solid ranks
and dig moral trenches
embedding yourselves
in self-defined virtues
patting yourselves on the back,
won’t survive when the chariots come
with their innovations and rapid manoeuvres
and the flash of their wheels in the sun
if you don’t learn to adjust
and be flexible, knowing your failings,
your flailing, a horror to watch
you won’t survive this defeat
your offers of gifts won’t work
this is not a puritan country
rigidity of thought is never a blessing
if you don’t regroup or retreat
you will lose every battle
you must learn all these lesson
if you ever hope to return
Day 29 ~ Rumi, the well-named cat
Contemplative, appreciative, grateful,
my cat Rumi, the best of our tribe,
knew how to thrive and survive.
I am quite sure of that.
As at home in a crowd
or in seclusion
nothing could phase this cat.
From the moment I saw him,
contentedly caged at the refuge, I knew
that this was a very calm chap.
When I took him with me
to my whimsical house,
where a hidden mirror
out in the garden
reflected a profusion of flowers,
Rumi gazed, with no consternation,
curled his generous tail softly about himself
and fell asleep there for hours,
but wow, and meow, he knew how to play
when the kids were around and ran wild.
Affectionate yes, never pushy,
he was the one who followed his duty
in sustaining the peace of our house.
I found my own centre
in watching him watching a trickle of water
run from drainpipe to gutter
with close attention
and the eye of a silent saint.
He showed me the importance of flow.
He had no need to know where it came from
and didn’t much care where it went.
Ah the purring of Rumi, a mantra.
Rumi was heaven sent.
a poetry prompt
Imagine you are lost somewhere and write a postcard from that place
postcard from the ledge
i am here alone my darling,
here without you,
right on the side of a cliff
very high up on a ledge
watching a sunset
with no one to hold my hand
lost in my head
losing my rhythm and reason
not breathing as i should
in two senses
i am very close to the edge
Day 28 ~ Blue and White
my favourite colours now
are powder blue with white
and my father has painted my room
and my trike
happy to give what I like
I love the smell of fresh new paint
and windows flung open wide
it’s cosy in here but full of air
i watch the stars from my bed
the curtains never drawn at night
the summer skies are azure blue
filled with fluffy white clouds
sheep out to pastures high above
in gentle flocks they flow
wandering out of sight
in the distance beyond the trees
and the haze of several miles
is a blue and white water tower
striped, it stands, a lighthouse
far away from the sea
they are going to demolish it soon they say
I protest, I pray, I cry
surely someone will listen to me
but very soon it is gone
first lessons learned in sorrow
beauty can be destroyed
I don’t rule the world
here today, gone tomorrow
The Dreaming Path 