so much is shared through migrations
like birds dropping seeds in the garden
some will flourish, some wont
flowers, fruits and weeds
looking back on history
and the incessant weave of the world
i see patterns intertwined, growing
interchange of arts and design
leaves that bud from one tree
the branching of language and speech
a map of where we’ve all been
it says nothing of where we are going
in this we know less than the birds
I leaned by a wall in the hallway
dressed in a hat and a coat
with a place to go I cared nothing for
when after his death we moved out
the thought of the way an empty house echoes
after the packing cases are gone
never fails to move me or bring tears
it reminds me only of death
a hollow sound and an empty heart
if we had settled down after that
I might have gained more trust in the world
where only death is sure
it was after that I started to sleep walk
I have been sleep walking around that house
for years, in a world where I always move on
until death and the final box
the starfish lay on the beach
as the tide swept in and out
it was left behind, abandoned,
small star in the vastness of sand
the pebbles spread out around
older than starfish or I
I cupped my hand in tenderness
and released a star to the sea
when the sun sank down I wandered
followed a winding trail
higher and higher I climbed
away from the rolling waves
until I felt above it all
with life spread out below
a giant on a solid rock
where nothing disturbed my peace
I rest on my back on granite
cold and hard against my spine
gazing up to the endless night sky
and a lattice of gleaming stars
where patterns move, intertwined
a fragment of infinity, greater, vaster by far
a tiny edge of the Universe
where all our short lives are
beneath me, i feel the earth turn
the silvered stars flash and shine
already dead, extinguished, aeons long ago
their twinkling lingers in time
i spread my hand to define them
measured against my palm
i am so small and they so vast
perspective loses its grip
strapped by gravities fragile belt
held fast to the slow turning earth
I feel myself begin to fly
inward and plunging out
there is no up and no down any more
no beginning, no end, only light
we’re an infinite variations of one
across the dream of night
amongst the rocks and the sand
all our conversations
are becoming like this.
what are you thinking?
nothing of importance
what are you doing?
nothing right now
what were you doing last night?
nothing much
is anything wrong?
Nothing at all
i can’t fathom your tone
nothing is not an empty void
it fills the room
it’s so real I can’t breathe
then you say if you knew me
you wouldn’t be asking questions.
i thought you knew me completely
you don’t say what you have on your mind
you tell me nothing serious is happening
you say so much amidst your questions
you ask if I should have been an actor?
what the hell do you mean by that?
you ask can I find what I’m looking for here
and suggest I am lost in my dreams
not all can get lost in fantasy, you say
like its a blessing, and i get an award
you think I can’t see.
i see the nuance.
you insinuate
as you circle
herding me in
with maybe it’s this
and maybe it’s that
i am becoming impatient
this is becoming ridiculous
i say in exasperation
maybe i should have run off with a clown
maybe i should have been lead singer
when i played in a band back then
i start to feel sarcastic
and I don’t like the way i sound
maybe i am not looking for anything
did you think of that?
i followed a path that lead me here
if wishes were horses I’d be riding
but I’m not wishing
I am trying to write a poem
sitting by a river
it can help sometimes
and that’s what I do
yes, sure i get sad, who doesn’t
but it’s never that nature no longer delights me
I don’t forget the glory, even when it’s hidden
behind a day in the grey, with no shine
the trees against the clouds still have grace
i am thinking of what i am seeing
the wind that blows blow all away
that’s where I am,
that’s what I am doing
that’s who I am
Nothing at all
I guess it’s too late to be a poet
practice makes perfect
perfect takes time
I can measure a beat
use slant rhyme in plenty
I’m rich in experience, that’s for sure
but I seem to have lost
that belief in myself
the enthusiastic leap of confident youth
too old to go out and brave a stage
too old to expound and rant and rage
i try to capture a quieter truth
my words sit and whisper beside the river
seeing pictures when words are flowing
where it starts and where it goes
I have no way of ever knowing
they come to my heart, pour straight out
in happiness, sorrow, joy and pain
I never mastered the careful edit
or got any credit from publishers
all i do is write and wish
if wishes were transformed into poems
they’d shimmer and shine on every page
and i could write away my age
i wasted time
life got in the way
no point blaming yesterday
I will try until I die
chasing the deadline to the dust
milk is spilt, but I can try
When the day was young the Fool stepped out
A rose in his hand and free of care
He walked though fields of fresh spring flowers
He had no thought for passing hours
Or the perils of the journey far ahead
He had never heard of learning
He climbed a mountain to its peak
He looked up to the sun above
Unaware of the shadows at his feet
His open innocence was complete
He ignored the instincts of his dog
Who yapped and growled to warn him
The Fool stepped out to the precipice
A merry tune upon his lips
Merry hey hi down dilly sang he
Oh he sang so prettily
While the void opened wide before him
And down he tumbled into life
The Fool now faces many choices
He began the journey and must go on
It may be short or it may be long
He may be weak or he may be strong
But in time he will return to this peak
And gaze out, as a wise man
have you ever experienced
several unfortunate failures
of communication in one day
at the wrong moment, ill placed?
it was innocent, not designed
it all happened by chance
I can believe
several impossible things
before breakfast
but it’s harder
to believe them
after dark
when the door
was shut
in my face
it must have been fate
so fickle
i suppose
the complications of the heart are so many
as complex as the veins that carry our blood
i am no cardiac surgeon to feel your delicate pulse
but i feel my own heart beat and my aorta throb
there are times when it hurts and i don’t know why
there are times when i know every cause
some words cause my blood to pound
my head to spin and my arteries swell
though they are small words in themselves
words that perhaps meant little to you
said in some casual off-hand way
you don’t see the surge on the line
i will ingest yet another tablet
that will take care of that, i hope
but my brain needs greater attention
it’s harder to tell what goes on in there
it’s not just the moment that matters
it has all those memories, stored too well
i could go with my guts of course
base animal instinct and insight
the one that makes our hair stand on end
it’s as strong as the sense of smell
it’s the one that sees through it all
but then i would have to trust
walking cures many things
it’s good for your health
it clarifies thought
or retreats from a bad situation
but it brings you home again
i have always trusted my feet
thanks for the light on the walls and the taps
that light that shone through the kitchen window
when i was small and nothing was named
thanks for the lazy cat sleeping in sunshine
the cat i cared for as mine for a time
she gave me my first gentle knowledge of death
thanks to the brother dead before i was born
who taught me all a brother could be
a fantasy figure of unbroken virtues, Galahad vanished
thanks for daffodils that blazed in the garden,
giant hollyhocks, blood peonies, roses,
the gnarled apple tree branches and pears
thanks for the nursery school teacher
who tortured my mornings, her ice cold eyes
made me throw up at the approach to her door
thanks for the blackbird, the song-thrush, the night,
daisy chains, faery rings, the jackdaw in flight
the souls and spirits that danced in the garden
thanks for Arthur’s round table, Robins arrows,
my imaginary horse, all my hidden companions
who jumped out of old dusty leather-bound books
thanks for the love that i found here and there
and the help from unexpected places,
strangers, wise friends and wanderers all
and thanks for that mighty punch on the jaw
the blow that almost left me deaf in one ear
driving me inward to find myself in escaping
thanks for clouds, forests, mountains that rumble,
dogs that tumble in grass, running horses,
the endless crash of giant waves on the shore
ravens, seagulls, all things that fly,
the moments i saw true love shine in eyes,
the curve of a lip at the start of a smile
tangled limbs, sleeping faces, blessings,
grace, beauty, rivers that rush over stones,
my search for Excalibur out on the moors
daydreams, music, rhythms and words,
the strength of an oak, the willow that bends,
the magical, mystical weave of the world
i give thanks for will power, imagination and hope,
for knowing how to cope and survive
most of all i give thanks for being alive
The Dreaming Path 