when you wake from a dream
into which you had drifted
if you sleep again quickly
you can dream it again
but it’s never the same
the scenery’s shifted, it’s not as it seemed
where there were roses, there’s only a shadow
the windows are dimmed, the doors won’t open
the music that played changed key long ago
the dream that you dreamed
has floated away
The lamps shine down from windows high above,
Burning moths, white wings singe against the light.
Old roses hang against the well worn walls
Amongst the darker tangle of the leaves,
Their blossoms gleaming as each petal falls,
While lovers sleep entranced in tender dreams,
Turning now and then throughout the long night,
Entwined and locked together by their limbs.
I stand below here, pierced and polarised.
The galaxies are singing psalms and hymns.
Seeing, I lose all sense of who I am.
I see a sky that’s full of shooting stars.
No wish I make can change our mortal fate.
It’s beautiful, it’s passing and it’s late.
impatient for your arms again i rise
to sit and watch your secret sleeping eyes
what dream is this that keeps you lingering there
with smiling parted lips and tender sighs
what joy in sleep so fills your captured heart
while i wait here alone, to watch apart
and gaze upon your much loved gentle face
more lovely than a work of perfect art
i wander in the garden late at night
to gather perfumed roses, pink and white,
while I my patient lovers vigil keep
to bring your morning wonder and delight
the dark, the stars, the moon are gone away
across your sleepy pillow sunbeams play
in this new world refreshed, renewed, be mine
awaken to another golden day
I lost you,
somewhere in the garden,
where a path took a turn
downhill.
There’s a tangle of roses entwined.
Some of them have dark thorns
that cling to your skirts
as you pass.
The paths are a tangle, a puzzle,
twisted around like a rope.
I can’t undo or decipher them
but I heard a distant sound,
amongst all the songs of the birds,
the gentle play of a fountain.
I need to slake my thirst.
I am sure I will find you there.
I met you once by a river.
By water I’ll meet you again
no need for butterflies and roses
no valentines, no pretty hearts
no cupids here, with flying arrows
no dear, I will never sing
a praise song to your beauty
no romance in tender words
i have nothing much to offer
i wont buy you gifts and things
don’t expect a honeymoon
i won’t give you wedding rings
nothing here is wrapped in ribbons
i make no eternal vow
respect i offer, honesty,
an ear that listens, this i bring
if you want this, hold it, keep it
it’s for you, take it now
the grass my father cut that day
was parched and scorched
by burning sun
his ashes rest
beneath the roses now
the rain pours down
and bounces on the lawn
bending down the peony heads
and flattening the fern
the grass has grown again
will he?
this beautiful instrument of carefully chosen wood
its resonant round back sits warmly under my rib
its aged neck nestled lightly in the palm of my hand
it travelled with me to Ireland, Morocco, Poland, India, Spain
giving pleasure to strangers in wayside and stations
helping me find friendships in far away lands
i walked with it slung on my back in a desert valley
pausing as a strange music haunted my ear
looking about for the source of mysterious sound
the strings vibrated in response to a greater musician
the lone song of my mandolin played by the wind
it had no need of my hands. my hands long for it now
safely home, hung again on my wall, a thing of beauty,
resting, its grace and my love of it inspired hatred
one who wished to hurt me, hurt it in anger, vicious spite
while i was locked out, unable to reach you,
gone, a place under my rib left empty
no light glints on silvered strings
the wind will no longer touch them, nor i
one hundred and fifty years, gone in one moment
full of tunes played and tunes not written
all that remains, a strap embroidered
with roses and ivy entwined
The stars of the heavens are clear and bright.
I stand here alone, looking up tonight.
The song of the nightingale fills my heart
Ecstatic soloist, brings sweet delight
A softened light shines from the crescent moon,
At dawn it lips the ocean in a swoon.
All night I watched awake, we are apart.
The treasured morning cannot come to soon.
The scent of roses fills the dawning air
As I walk out in peace without a care
Amidst this new-born darling of a day
Where all the fields are newly fresh and fair.
You bring a smile, a word, a tender glance.
Tomorrow’s here and all the world’s a dance.
The sky is blue, the clouds have cleared away
And I am dreaming in a golden trance
two little girls
dressed all in pink and freshly washed
sit on a wall covered with roses
swinging their legs and smiling
as they kill all the butterflies
taking pleasure in doing it slowly
at the height of the summer thunderstorm
a red balloon
escaped from the village fete
the wind sped it along
the course of the river
past gravestones, treetops, roses
in the churchyard
the wedding guests ran for shelter
the bride clutching wildly her veil
flying higher and higher it climbed
into the towering greyness of clouds
a dwindling spot of colour, consumed
The Dreaming Path 