I went shopping today.
I crossed that street we had crossed together,
The one close to the river
and the theatre.
You remember that day we met there?
It was cold and wet then
Just as it was today.
I went to the same cafe
and bought a coffee for one.
I hope for your return.
There is no promise you will come.
These days I wait for the sun
but hang on to my furled umbrella.
I see open eyes and closed doors
as I see faces pass in the crowd,
all those secrets within,
all those wishes and dreams,
the dark sadness so often seen.
What would they say
if I asked them to stay
and give all their secrets away?
Would they lie or tell me the truth?
Do we sing from one page?
Unfulfilled?
Whatever their stage,
whatever their race,
whatever the date of their birth,
are their feelings so different from mine?
And where is god in all this?
Does god even exist?
In our breath, in water, in fire?
We all die, but are we divine?
What I hear is one voice and one choir.
Making tea is not the easy task it may seem.
To make it alone is simple,
it’s a matter of getting up steam
and not stewing the brew
but keeping it fresh and delightful.
I keep a few blends by to heal me
and stave off the winter colds
(or so we are told)
but orange pekoe is best,
or simple assam, bright and dark,
they outstrip the rest.
I have loved them for years
since I was just a young spark.
Lapsang souchong may be more hip,
it’s aroma may be more inspiring
but i gave up after one sip.
We all have our preference
and that’s where the problem comes in
Must every choice be political
or a statement of ethical pride?
What pleasure does that enhance?
My cupboard has a full range
in case a friend should come round
and inspect my tea making stance
and state their own, to impress.
There’s also the sweetening question;
none, sugar or honey.
Such noble-hearted obsessions
backed with the full force of money
request what I cannot afford.
Be assured, I would if i could.
It was quite a relief
when my latest guest came
and asked for a cup of hot water.
I think she won the great game.
By the spinning of genes through the ages
no fate is ever the same.
Some receive beauty’s blessing.
I saw a boy at the bus stop
Oscar Wilde would have died for
that full sensual lip with a curve
and that nose, so defined,
and the girl with the sultry eyes
by the blue open door.
I was floored.
She’s the trace of a rose incarnate.
Where are such faces created?
Do angels fall down from above,
and are they gifted also with Love?
I think they’re not.
Truly yourself you are.
You touch me,
so nearly there,
yet far.
we crossed the bridge
grey river
hard pavement
heavy bags
traffic
you nudged against me
laughing
and there it was
the sun splash!
bare cafe
formica tables
coffee tastes good enough
food just doesn’t matter
people chatting
you smile at me
that little light
in your eyes
and there it is
sun splash!
it can rain
it can pour
the wind can howl
the town can fall about my ears
i feel your warmth
close, so near
i don’t quite reach to take your hand
but there it is
sun splash!
everywhere
sun splash!
I feel around your edges
until I find the entrance.
I sense your essential essence
Four words
spring to mind
”every kind of juice”
I am surprised.
Delighted and surprised.
Every kind of juice.
Sustenance sublime!
If I wouldn’t look like a stalker
I would follow this woman everywhere
Just for the pleasure of looking
Like a hot calypso
A summer rumba
The way she moves her body
Is a slow swing sensuous sonnet
Full of warmth and sunshine
Such grace in every gesture
And her face
Such a smile
It makes my heart race
Just thinking
I wouldn’t presume to pursue her
No more than I’d chase a breeze
but I’m caressed and soothed
by her passing
when people talk of desire
they speak of fire and heat
but a fire can be extinguished,
in itself it’s not complete
desire is the beginning
the waking of stronger powers
that sweeps you off your feet
and put a stop to time
only when you are mine
that power comes with a passion
far beyond ourselves
it pushes, it tears, it’s agony,
it’s joy, it’s free, it’s sweet,
it’s the urgent demand of life
when the wind comes down from heaven
and whirls true lovers up,
groaning and gasping,
flying,
upward,
through the longing stars,
they cling with desperation
there’s another dimension
to the grip of their grasping arms
until they fall together,
soft to their tumbled bed
you touch my beating heart
we can talk
or fall asleep
we know we are one whole part
i feel such tenderness
it’s then i can stroke your lovely skin
and cradle your gentle head
excite me, ignite me,
never needs to be said
the fire of desire will return
we’ll go to heaven again
by a slower, gentler path
I see you walk in the world,
but your life is a closed facade.
I see the face you wear,
the same one you wear every day.
Expressions sometimes change.
It’s basically all the same.
I hear your conversations,
polite and carefully restrained,
and the poses you’ve adopted
and the way you think you are.
We’ve all been conditioned that way.
So for god sake put on a mask,
a mask of your own creation.
Yes, wear that one.
Let your hair down.
Log into virtual reality
if that’s what it takes to be free.
Behind that mask you can hide.
It’s the way to express yourself.
I’ll never be your judge.
You can be that hidden creature
you truly want to be.
Become your avatar.
Your dream ambitions
will show your secret essence
and then, for better or worse,
we’ll know who you truly are
and,
at last,
you will know your self.
The Dreaming Path 