Here are a few poems, a bit unpolished, that I wrote whilst on a retreat Receptivity, Death & Rebirth at Padmaloka, which has stimulated quite a lot of reflections, of which I may write more later.
MISSING MOMENTS
Not less than one
is the beat of my thought pulse
with little to gild it with
but a nano second of a passing muse
with no time to wave
before it too has gone
no crowning moment
devastating finale
or clasped hurrah!
just the muffled crunch
of slippered steps on gravel
moving into the distance
and fading within my mind
into mist.
REFLECTING ~ ON EVERYTHING THAT MOVES
This appears to be no more than an attitude
a point of perspective
placed at an irregular angle
best not make it a defined intent
it gets complicated
its a sliver of something
pasted into the background
like a convex mirror
in a Dutch masterpiece
reflecting on everything that moves
from a clear, yet distorted viewpoint
as if seen from the back
in reverse
in a fishes eye
a fraction of a second
after the moment has passed
PRESENT TENSE
Not in my guts, in my sex,
in my little toe, am I
today I am
an excess of acidity
searing my stomach lining
medium rare
grumbles and moans surface
tuning in to my inner teenager
'who are you to tell me what to do
what I am or am not
whether I is an am at all
serving up your existential quandaries
before I've even had my porridge,
its cruel, Christ! its breakfast time!!
surely if hunger exists
it can be satisfied?'
SIMILARITIES IN SOUND
It sounds similar to....
the soft bass and thrumming drum roll
of wood burning in a stove.
a car's low intoned throaty hum
far off on a motorway
a plane's high trailed crackle and thrust
long passed beyond sight, and out of time,
leaving condensed air waves, and a resonant hum
as an after thought.
or a fart, from an unknown fartee, recently blown off
but lingering regretfully in the air
Note what, who or which of these it was
and let them go, let them pass through
don't hold them here, damn it.
bloody let go of them!
let them all die away
CLOSE ENOUGH BUT NO FURTHER
There is always
a something
a person
an ideal
we are stepping away from;
phenomena ~ natural or supernatural
feelings ~ base or refined
pursuits ~ trivial or profound
relationships ~ interpersonal or trans personal
in all cases
we're backing off
we're scared
we know and don't want to know
as the strings are drawn
tighter
ineluctably moving us towards
an ever closer bond
with whatever intimacy it is.
WHETHER
For some
whenever it rains
it falls both inside and out
whenever its sunny
it shines both inside and out
whenever its cloudy
it overshadows both inside and out
Whenever rain falls upon a sunny nature
it blesses everything it touches
by cooling, bathing and glistening them
Whenever sun shines upon a rainy nature
it warms everything it touches
mopping up the moisture
from pools, gutters and tears.
However,
whenever clouds blanket the sky
cunningly withholding their beauty,
both from inside and out
no glimmer of light escapes
unsuffused or obscured by doubts
or fear of the unhealed dream
leaving us at the mercy and merits
of our own devices
and whether
in the state we are in
we swim or drown.
THE RUN THROUGH
Wildness, is a dance, often
done blindfolded
by those who desire
to be free of form
arching, crashing and bending everywhere
like branches being whipped by a storm
flailing after expressing something
that in their flailing
they can never catch
yet in this ungraspable state
lies the appeal of being wild
of being in touch with
a facsimile, a trial performance
fully dressed up and everything
but dreadfully under rehearsed
for the true liberation.
KEEPING IN CIRCLES
Winding round
as though turning a windlass
navigating ritual space
with only a stupa to guide us
everything and nothing is present in each step
no praying, no chanting, no pressure
but the catching of a thought
in respect of each moment
and through such momentum
of concentrated circularity
we walk with our time, clockwise
feigning indifference to the fizz of mosquito's
squiggling the air around us
but nonetheless are distracted by them
whilst above, in the dimness
of a late afternoon autumnal sky
a posse of black winged birds,
sweep counter clockwise
as if mimicking or mocking us
instinctively forming an orderly circle
and collectively feeding
off flies.
MISSING MOMENTS
Not less than one
is the beat of my thought pulse
with little to gild it with
but a nano second of a passing muse
with no time to wave
before it too has gone
no crowning moment
devastating finale
or clasped hurrah!
just the muffled crunch
of slippered steps on gravel
moving into the distance
and fading within my mind
into mist.
REFLECTING ~ ON EVERYTHING THAT MOVES
This appears to be no more than an attitude
a point of perspective
placed at an irregular angle
best not make it a defined intent
it gets complicated
its a sliver of something
pasted into the background
like a convex mirror
in a Dutch masterpiece
reflecting on everything that moves
from a clear, yet distorted viewpoint
as if seen from the back
in reverse
in a fishes eye
a fraction of a second
after the moment has passed
PRESENT TENSE
Not in my guts, in my sex,
in my little toe, am I
today I am
an excess of acidity
searing my stomach lining
medium rare
grumbles and moans surface
tuning in to my inner teenager
'who are you to tell me what to do
what I am or am not
whether I is an am at all
serving up your existential quandaries
before I've even had my porridge,
its cruel, Christ! its breakfast time!!
surely if hunger exists
it can be satisfied?'
SIMILARITIES IN SOUND
It sounds similar to....
the soft bass and thrumming drum roll
of wood burning in a stove.
a car's low intoned throaty hum
far off on a motorway
a plane's high trailed crackle and thrust
long passed beyond sight, and out of time,
leaving condensed air waves, and a resonant hum
as an after thought.
or a fart, from an unknown fartee, recently blown off
but lingering regretfully in the air
Note what, who or which of these it was
and let them go, let them pass through
don't hold them here, damn it.
bloody let go of them!
let them all die away
CLOSE ENOUGH BUT NO FURTHER
There is always
a something
a person
an ideal
we are stepping away from;
phenomena ~ natural or supernatural
feelings ~ base or refined
pursuits ~ trivial or profound
relationships ~ interpersonal or trans personal
in all cases
we're backing off
we're scared
we know and don't want to know
as the strings are drawn
tighter
ineluctably moving us towards
an ever closer bond
with whatever intimacy it is.
WHETHER
For some
whenever it rains
it falls both inside and out
whenever its sunny
it shines both inside and out
whenever its cloudy
it overshadows both inside and out
Whenever rain falls upon a sunny nature
it blesses everything it touches
by cooling, bathing and glistening them
Whenever sun shines upon a rainy nature
it warms everything it touches
mopping up the moisture
from pools, gutters and tears.
However,
whenever clouds blanket the sky
cunningly withholding their beauty,
both from inside and out
no glimmer of light escapes
unsuffused or obscured by doubts
or fear of the unhealed dream
leaving us at the mercy and merits
of our own devices
and whether
in the state we are in
we swim or drown.
THE RUN THROUGH
Wildness, is a dance, often
done blindfolded
by those who desire
to be free of form
arching, crashing and bending everywhere
like branches being whipped by a storm
flailing after expressing something
that in their flailing
they can never catch
yet in this ungraspable state
lies the appeal of being wild
of being in touch with
a facsimile, a trial performance
fully dressed up and everything
but dreadfully under rehearsed
for the true liberation.
KEEPING IN CIRCLES
Winding round
as though turning a windlass
navigating ritual space
with only a stupa to guide us
everything and nothing is present in each step
no praying, no chanting, no pressure
but the catching of a thought
in respect of each moment
and through such momentum
of concentrated circularity
we walk with our time, clockwise
feigning indifference to the fizz of mosquito's
squiggling the air around us
but nonetheless are distracted by them
whilst above, in the dimness
of a late afternoon autumnal sky
a posse of black winged birds,
sweep counter clockwise
as if mimicking or mocking us
instinctively forming an orderly circle
and collectively feeding
off flies.
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