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Little Peace
with a double-ended stick
chance pokes at me
right off the chart
right off the map
can i be blamed
for not trusting that,
when it can shatter my world?
frying pan; liar
true-teller; fire
just about sums it up
why should it be, that in telling the truth,
the people that mean the most to me
are the ones that trust me the least?
protecting themselves
from the beast
i suppose
and who can blame them
for that
shackled by earth
from the day of my birth
my mind has done battle
to keep my heart free
a life-sentenced prisoner
i long for release
or a little grace-given peace
Snow
the howl of this desolate place
is the summation of me
out in the snowy wastes
alone, unloved and free
the wind is the music of flutes
leaping over my roof
pure and constant and clear
Free on Kindle until 22nd July
Travellers
From dolmen and hilltop in sunlight and rain
We travel the path as it opens again.
From mountain to ocean through woodland and glade
The way and the telling are already made.
The circle is whole and the pattern will grow
From time immemorial it’s always been so,
Sharing the joys of a journey that starts
In the melding of minds and the opening of hearts,
Recalling the magics that words cannot say
Finding the wending winds of the way
In the voyage of discovery we know who we are
As we follow the light of the mariners star
I will walk beside you as you walk beside me
Our story is the story that’s unbounded and free
Namaste, Om Shanti
Dream and fling your self backwards
into the arms of the world. It will catch you.
No package tour safety nets here. Follow me.
Bring the map and emergency rations
of hazel nuts, dates, water, a candle.
Be open-hearted, be free.
Step out of your door and head for the station,
take that first step that leads you away.
Tomorrow we’ll be there, feeling the heat,
of a street in India. Seeking a bed
at the end of the day, finding instead, an elephant,
as he strolls home from work in the evening.
Take what comes, not what you look for.
In this world of colours, sun-spun silken,
a myriad whirl that welcomes us, leads us,
not speaking the language wont matter a fig.
Eyes and hands speak volumes,
talking to strangers, laughing, smiling
Namaste, om shanti, be free.
The Dreaming Path 