Snow Sheets

Bed sheets, snow pleats,
Pristine white serene snowscapes,
Flowing, flowering, enfolding, unfolding drifts on your skin,

Draped across pillows piled high,
With memories and plans,
Dreaming within your succulent white bed flesh.

Your hair stranded, ski tracks stretched on the iceways,
Pulling on threads connecting life in lives fully lived,
Pushing the boundaries of past and future,
Finding meaning, meandering, illuminating,
Immanent with potent branching possibilities,

Whiling away hours now snow shoe walking,
Sweet, soft, sweating frosty breath,
Sweet, soft, dancing frosty breath,
Mesmerised in the music of moon light bright.
Excited, spiralling, crystal flakes,
Choreography of love into form

Your flurrying, scurrying mind thawing now,
Metamorphosis of ice into clear water,
A stream of stretching foaming wonder,
Cascading down mountain sides,
Caressing rocks, calling, creating a choir.

That sings to me...

And I hear your call...
I am pecking, pecking, pecking breaking out,
A heart-shaped egg cracking open,
Slowly, slowly,
Patiently I waited,
When I asked for you to call me.

And now I hatch and fly,
Crossing lakes and hanging in the icy blue sky,
Carried on clouds,
I enter your room on a warm wind blowing in,
A chinook melting snow
Together we warm our inner organs of perception.

And now I kneel before you on your growing bed,
Indents in your sheets,
The heat now emerging within our murmuring hearts,
I gaze along with the moon upon your skin.

Fractal patterns of feeling, firming up and expanding,
You reach out to me......
You are opening me up now, expanding welcoming
Pulsating, perfect passion now in the pen in your palm,
Stroking, strolling weaving wisdom threads along your leaves,
you are bringing forth a fountain,
An explosion of ice firework,
Spreading shards of showers,
Patterns glistening across your skin,
Melting now,

You reach down to your soaking self,
Stroking, stoking the heat between us
Dampness at your hands,
Moving to your lips,
You taste All This as you lick your finger tips
And embody my salty kiss within.


written January 2014

 

To Embody a Poem

Take some time and space to be with a poem. To bring it to life inside you. The voice of the poet then becomes clear, develops and evolves, and indeed becomes alive within the reader. The reader is the epitome of the active listener - of active receptivity and open hearted-ness. 

The meaning imbued by the poet in the words, and in the words not used, is transformed within the reader into new meaning - emobodied beautifully. The active presences and the active absences combine in new ways. 

The tensions are created between the words and the context within the reader/recipient, which is the unique personal history of the reader. A resonance develops, new meanings arise. And the poet and the reader spiral up to new heights of understanding together entwined in body, mind and spirit, which has nothing to do with time and space.

This Morning

sunrise over Killiney Bay


This Morning,

I lost myself in the sky. 

Expanded, clear, empty,

But immersed in fullness. 

Swimming in a diamond candle lit cave,

Pervaded by deep pools of blue wisdom,

Within music.

Flowing forms like water,

Taking the shape of trees,

And fusing up into the lightening sky,

Dappled by red tendrils of flying lightforms,
Enriched by blackbirds,

Dancing on roof ridges,

For fun.

Jan 8, 2014: As I was leaving the house this morning, the sky was amazing.. I really opened up to it and allowed it to immerse itself in me for a while..a deep dark blue in the west and a subtle light blue undergoing slow, but steady dynamic change to slightly lighter all the time...then some clouds flecked by the beginnings of the tendrils of sunlight growing from beyond the horizon....

It took my breath away. ...

...And then when I got home here after dropping the kids at school, a blackbird on the ridge of the roof of the house, then joined by another one.... they chased each other along...it all looked like great fun... Beautiful! 

Doubts

I'm a bird locked up in a cage, 

In a season when all my dreams fade.

I'm a King shut up in a tower,

Looking out on a land over I which I have no power. 

I'm a lion curled up in a cave,

Afraid that I'm not quite so brave. 

I'm a man floundering in a drowning sea,

Thinking how circumstances have overtaken me. 

I'm a skater slipping along on thin ice,

But you know?

I've already fallen through these cracks twice.

This poem is an old one written sometime 1986-1990

The Ragged Bone Man

The ragged bone man comes,

And ragged does he stare,

On faces black and bleak,

With sweat and pain and tears.

We run to meet him,

Smiling, blank, and cry,

Forever,

His memories haunt,

His eyes,

Are dark and deepened pools of blank,

In which we swim.

Together,

He leaves and loves,

Or does he?

To wave us, "Goodbye".

Or beckon us, "Come!",

To his land,

Where the ragged, bony, scragged men

Lie bedraggled and broken black,

In ditches.

And dear old time wastes us,

Ragged, scragged, black.

He knocks patiently,

Until we leave,

With him,

Alone.

This poem is an old one written sometime 1986-1990

                                   

Lost Youth

They all laugh, 

At nothing,  

Wonder at themselves.  

Why?  

Why don't they know? 

Why can't they see? 

They are young and lost, 

Frightened by things, 

They don't understand.  

Clinging to themselves, 

Just. 

Written during a period of homesickness, while in my Hall of Residnce at University in 1988

 

Starlit Message

If only more of us bothered to think,

Made the effort to realise,

How much more there is,

To what we see. If only more of us took time as a helper.

If only we were to stare up at the stars, 

We would realise how insignificant we really are. 

All of you who are full of yourselves, 

Look at the sky on a starlit night.

Then you will realise,

That we could all disappear, 
In just one of those flickering pin holes up there.  

That is why there are stars,

To convince men of their mediocrity. 

But why are there men? 

Sometimes I wonder.

This is another early poem 1986-1990   

Evening Comes

Evening comes,

And I Am,

Alive.

This hill again,

Spring mist rising down below,

Hazy shadows are bushes and trees in the fog.

It's cold and I'm damp.

The sun is huge,

Glows a fiery red,

'Laughing fat man's head',

Slips down and leaves heat,

In the Earth,

And the skylarks cry,

High.

The haze rises,

This mist mutes all sound,

The skylarks fade,

And I'm still cold,

Swimming inside,

Me?

This mist is like a lake,

How these moors were before,

Men and drainage came.

The sounds have gone,

Dampened in the shadows,

As night comes and it gets colder.

I sigh and I leave,

Because I try,

But I still don't understand.

Written on 'my favourite hill' overlooking Tealham Moor, Hozzard, Wedmore, Somerset, England

Sometime 1987-1990

Velvet Paradise

There we played,

Behind the rose bushes,

At the beginning of time,

Living a dream,

Living dreams.

All day long flickering our eyes,

To a world that wasn't there,

To a world that didn't care,

About adults and cruelty.

An innocent place,

Where we could live out our dreams,

Live a dream.

There we knew the trees would never be bare,

We could crawl along roads,

Un-metalled by the drawbacks of worry.

And hide behind walls,

In the velvet paradise,

Within our minds.

Written sometime 1986-1990. This one I guess is about the innocence of childhood, perhaps lost innocence too and escapism to a safe, comfortable place...a velvet paradise.

Web of Wonder

Credit: http://wallpaperswide.com/wet_spider_web_2-wallpapers.html
 
I watch her through the window 
As she weaves her web of wonder,
Early in the morning before we're awake,

Flowing with the silk,

Strands stretched from without to within,
Her feet are like a dancer's.

 Translating melody into form,
Immersed in the music,
She finds her healing heart.

This poem was written in October 2013. A garden spider was weaving a web outside our kitchen window one morning. I loved watching her weave her web over and over again - such a delicate artisan. She made this her home for weeks and weaved and re-weaved patiently over and over again. It struck me that her web represented the web of relationships that we humans need with kindred spirits and soul mates in order to feel fulfilled in life and to find healing!  Thich Nhat Han says that one of the most important things in life is to find your sanga. Your community. Your support network of like-minded souls.

Win Green

Credit: bournemouthramblers

http://www.bournemouthramblers.org.uk

Peace is here,

Where wisdom is.

Within the wind,

Where love lifts us up,

Above these hills,

We soar,

Amidst the sounds of the skylarks.

And the love in our smiles,

Is higher than ever,

Than ever before,

When we were simply friends.

Hold me,

Rest your head on my shoulder,

And listen to the bliss,

Of the wind rustling the bushes.

Written during Easter 1988 following a visit with my girlfriend to Win Green near Shaftesbury in Dorset.

When Shadows Danced

When shadows danced on your walls,

Each was like a line from a poem,

Created from our dreams,

We reached up to grasp the words,

Before they could disappear forever,

We accepted each gift as the moonlight flickered,

Through billowing curtains,

And still the waves fell upon us,

And wisdom bathed us in its light.

Too Much Noise

Too much noise
Empty noise
Try to be with you
All noise

People, kids, cars
Withdraw my mind

Peace of darkness
Stars flickering
Quiet wind whispering
A duet with the tide
Audible, but humanly unfathomable
A gentle peace
Natural

Your noise
With you
At last!

Lying back
Listening to the sweetest sound of
Nothing

But everything 

I wrote this in the late 1980s. Our house was often busy and there was a tension in the atmosphere there owing to my Dad's illness. There was often the noise of traffic outside too. I used to retreat into my bedroom for some peace This was probably one of my first attempts to meditating...trying to find some peace and quite within and actually achieving it (for once!).

Searching

Lost myself inside my head
Searching for a place somewhere I can call a bed
Think I've been here once before
But I lost myself then I'm sure

Picking up pebbles by a stream
All of them dreams of what I could have been
Packing them in cases to send to the moon
Now I've only nightmares preaching impending doom

Touring a forest of cardboard trees
Each one taunting me of past iniquities
Messages scrawled to tell me how to live
Oh God! How can I tell myself 'forgive'?

Wish I could find just where I am
One day I'll escape from here to another land
But first I've got to unearth this hidden sign
So that one day I can take over someone else's mind

Written in the late 1980's. This one is about cycles of self doubt (in this and other lives?) , the fear of unfulfilled dreams, the limiting effects of past events and the search for stability and contentment. Do I want to escape from myself or the situation I'm in or both? And whose mind is it that I need to take over? I don't know.....I know I should forgive..myself...others? But how?

What Dreams are These?

Walking alone on the moors,

With the wind in a word of wonder.
Why?

What dreams are these that hang in the air like clouds?

Broken up by a few rays of sunlight,

Shining through rain drops,

Making a rainbow,

Gripping a hand, 

Pulling on fingers,

Dancing in palms,

Outstretched to the blooming sky,

Above the trees,

Through the air,

On rocks,

Hard,

As rain falling on spring flowers.

A damp day,

Inside a cave,

Looking out on heaven,

Below me. 



Written April 20, 1997
When visiting the Somerset levels -
A special place for me
Where I grew up.
  

Autumn Leaves

What a beautiful time of year this is,

When the sky is so blue and the leaves - yellow, orange and red,

Gentle breezes blowing the leaves on to the ground,

Falling, gently......

A stillness,

A crispness in the air. 

Frost on the ground.

A slowing down,

A settling in.

One Thing at a Time

Image from http://www.verybestquotes.com/smile-breathe-and-go-slowly/

Walk slowly,

Talk slowly,

Breathe slowly,

Think clearly.

Everything in its right place,

Within the whole.

Invocation of the Dawn - Kalidasa

"Listen to the Exhortation of the Dawn!
Look to this Day!
For it is Life, the very Life of Life.
In its brief course lie all the
Verities and Realities of your Existence.
The Bliss of Growth,
The Glory of Action,
The Splendor of Beauty;
For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;
But To-day well lived makes
Every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every Tomorrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day!
Such is the Salutation of the Dawn!"

Invocation of the Dawn - Kalidasa. Originally from Sanskrit

http://sanskritists.livejournal.com/23714.html

 

The Round Room

The round room reels,

Your head spins with thoughts,

You groan in loneliness,

And confusion eats you,

In the dark,

You feel alone,

That no one cares.
        

The room has no walls,

All you see is darkness,

Storms in the night,

Rumblings of far away pain.
        

No way out,

No way forward,

No way back.
        

A whirlwind of swirling sparks appears,

Caught up in a windmill of despair,

Round and round your thoughts spin,

Like the round room,

Spinning around.

But listen!

In the distance,

From far off,

A voice in your head?

A whisper?

An echo?

The voice of the One you love,

The One who cares,
The One who loves you,

Guiding you,

Shining a light for you,

A spark is lit within you,

And finally you see.
        

The storm dies,

And the terror fades,

Only One voice you here,

Guiding you to the door.
        

Open the door and find peace,

On the other side,

Open the door and find Me.


Written late 1980s. Nowhere to hide in a round room...No corners... is my mind the round room? But there is hope....a faith that peace will come... awakening, enlightenment....joy...the deepest darkness is always before the dawn as they say.