37
compassion
Let the wild rose grow
In the wild manure
And the tangling
Brambles, let them go
Man throws his weight
And with nimbling finger
Plucks the fruit from its
Resting place
While autumn fires mark
A summer's fall
With a silent turn that
Reveals us all embraced.
The weight is sometimes
More than we can bear
compassion: Lat. com-pati 'with-suffer'
suffer: Lat. sub-ferre 'underneath-carry'
36
to forgive
I had thought it done, till the words
'To thoroughly-give' rose like a sun
Beam striking home. My dictionary
Saw to that. Go find it said, a stone,
Etched with a mean score, a hidden
Weeping sore, of sour blame. I did.
And was amazed... I'd not forgiven!
Is not a deed and a word the same?
The humble Salmon swims upstream
Against a tide. He sets to with a Will
And does not lie or levy with asides,
Or reason. He gives All for new life,
And then he dies. I think I am a fool.
For seasons, upon the seasons, rise…
To forgive: Lat. per-donare 'thoroughly-give'
35
the gate keeper
To and fro,
Letting it in
And letting it go.
This is the secret way.
Through a little gate
(The mystics know)
Life flows in, and life flows out
Like a subtle wave,
Never hindered in it's play
Or made to linger,
Never held at bay,
As though we could!
And if I may or might enshroud
Such fleeting magic
In a husky shell or name,
Or could...
I lay gold down,
Her name is Mercy.
The keeper of the gate.
The keeper of our fate.
Mercy : Latin Merces ‘payment’ – holding back on punishment.
34
the Falcon
A Falcon entered
My workshop today,
On the confident arm
Of a young woman and
I quickly felt the surge of
Raw power in wing and claw,
Gripping leather and very alert.
We gingerly worked to remove
An over-tight tag from his limb,
Talking in hushed murmurings...
So as not to alarm the kingly bird,
Who's piercing eye, once exposed
Seemed to bore clean through me!
And left a feeling that we might be
More connected than I'd thought,
Sharing perhaps the same stream
Or spring of a well hidden source
33
earth and fire
There are many things…
But only one observer
One is the earth and
One is the Soul
Both essential for
A healthy man to grow
One is active, one is passive
And one has made the other.
32
key
The big work
Is to pick up the key
And put it in the door
For someone else, why?
Because the other way
Is a trap in which you stay
Until you pay with your love
And nothing else.
31
breakfast
I'm sitting here by my stove before breakfast,
Pondering the apple of promise, that pulls the
Wool over the eye of consciousness, and leads
It to identify with any circumscribing force or
Form that's presenting
And how quickly these encounters fascinate a
Soul – and lead it like a dog down a blind alley
To capture, with loss of an amazing light found
In the living present. So much for a pondering
My stomach is rumbling
I'll go and have the breakfast. There see! How
Easy it is to fall and bind what is living, to that
Which is dead. Which is which, I hear you call,
But hold steady – for inside one is Life, whilst
Inside the other is a wall!
30
imagine
Imagine a fine light in outer space
Falling on a form and
Feeling constrained by that shape,
– Should the light wish to manifest.
Imagine a tangle of hollow threads
Down which I had
To pass and the misery of that fate
– Says my Soul trying to propagate
Perhaps, you have imagined Force
Trapped in a frame,
Sentiency coalescing with an idea,
And then forgetting to let go again
Is this the source of our complaint?
In reply, Power gives birth to a Son
Who draws a cross
Where the opposites meet and says
Love both, for surely they are One,
And further, that they can't be split.
Though the form
Via which we express is a personal
Thing & will bring it's own redress,
Depending on the motive we invest.
29
the hidden fabric
Suppose that in deepest space
Beyond the limit, lies Nothing,
Out of which, all Things have
Come to be, before returning.
Yet... mysteriously, there is no
Coming and there is no going,
As Nothing is a power present
And hidden within each thing
Giving it Life whilst remaining
Unseen – but to the Inner Eye.
Supposing that with the power
Of imagination faith and belief
We assume it's presence, as the
Seamless garment it's said to be
Binding all the patterns, forms
Atoms and molecules together.
Now the glue of the jigsaw is in
Place, where it has always been.
And we can leap a chasm which
Before, we deemed a fantasy...
28
noise
We are loosing our poise.
Friend... what has passed?
A delicious pool of quiet
Wherein rested our peace
Is turned outward to noise.
The hall of shade and still
Reflection, like the dew in
A morning light slips away
And leaves us bereft – with
The brittle, overbright day,
Whilst the pure leaf under
These leady words is still, it
Has no bias towards all that
Sway from above, and even
More, it gives them their fill.
Was there ever such a jewel?
27
a meditation
To free the Subject,
From the object that
Lies within it, such as
A grain might lie in
A great all seeing eye,
– is to free the Self,
From it's hungry seed,
So to nurse that with
Warmth and moisture
– Yet remain outside,
In a field, which links
All forms and which is
Lost in the gaining of
The so called prize, a
Temporary satisfaction
Of things born in time
(That can trap a mind)
To do this, is to fight
The battle of battles, to
Make the gain of gains,
And to know subject and
Object are not the same.
26
the Self and the stone
To see...
Now that's not easy
When a foggy way
Shutters the eye and
Steals away the understanding.
Though we could say,
It's a foggy eye - that
Shutters the way and
Steals away the understanding.
Which is it I ask you.
If a fog sits inside an I,
Like a stone in a pond,
Then the I must be the greater.
But if I goes into a fog,
Like a pond into a stone,
It's definitely the foggy eye
That destroys the understanding.
Does a sea go into a wave?
Alas, a map isn't a territory,
And even though I see a logic,
My eye throws itself into a stone
And away steals my under-standing.
25
crossing
Meet at the crossing
Where the
Present centre stands
In the stream
Of form, and look on.
Feel the
Gravity pull you into
Action,
Yet knowing what it’s
Like to
Be thrown beneath the
Matter,
Hold the centre for it's
Freedom, a
Space of no dimension,
And suffer
The buildings collapse,
Likely which
Was laid upon the sand.
24
dream
I should have caught that dream of
Clear and sharp direction, for alas...
This was no spinning compass wheel
Or misty vague intention but urgent
Insistent calling from a far off place
Instead of turning over with promise
To remember I should have trapped
That dying glow, and fanning gently,
Raised that secret ember, and then I
Might have seen, what I need know...
23
relocation
I am just the feeling
Encased,
In this flesh and bone,
Boxed in
Alas, though not alone,
Rather,
Entombed painfully with
Strangers.
This awful drone prods me
To move…
So very slowly stepping back
Quietly,
Uncoupling I slip away off and
Relocate,
I disassociate and leave without
Leaving,
Become a passer-by, disidentify
I Vaporise...
For how can a sunbeam become a
Stone...
Or a Self, the Object, upon which it
Shines
Become that Alone. Am I that drone
Within,
Or a beam of Light who knows the din
22
mud walls
How strange,
Mud walls
In a heavy downpour,
Slipping
To join the earth again
And the berry ripened
Goes over…
The babbling brook
And the gurgling rain
Make their way
To the sea.
21
stillness
The Stillness
The silent emptiness
The nothing and the nowhere
These precious pearls of the deep
Below this twinkle of sleep
That we call our life
That we call our fare
20
we must let loose our life
We must let loose our life from its iron grip
And fling it to the night and seek a new way
With this our fine shaft of searching light...
And though we shy from this daunting task
For our puny reason may exceed our grasp, yet
Go we must beyond our self to find a new day.
19
weary with sigh
Weary with sigh
My lonely bark
Pitches and rolls
Pitches and rolls
Whisper breezes
The unquiet sea
Why me like this
I sigh. Why me,
Like this, at Sea?
18
I sit inside...
I sit inside
My stillness.
A tented space
On stony ground.
A burning place
Of high gravity
Sucking down,
Listening to a
Tearing wind
And dry thunder
(A silent sound)
In this hot place.
This empty space.
This hollow ground.
17
Tottie
The shock
You've gone.
A stream of clear water
Moved on,
Leaving us lonely,
With your bright life,
An echo in the mind,
As when a fine musician
Might step outside for a while
And leave her song behind…
16
the little flame
The little flame of knowing dims.
My purpose slips. A sluggish heart
And disabled mind rasping like a
Bottled fly, tumbles. We fall back
Into a simple silent nothing I am
Placed... whilst just outside many
Faulty objects hurl and race, with
My own name, carved upon them
And a voice that says, will you put
Your powers in those things that
Are-not or choose this silent space
Filled with a beating Angel-wing...
15
identification of a centre
Identification of a centre
With periphery. That is it.
There is truly nothing else.
All rivers flow from this.
You are Nothing to me -
The most precious of all.
Why would I draw you out,
If not for my own purpose
Therefore I will not do so,
Lest we both fall and die.
14
a being with alzheimer
A being with Alzheimer
Is a person as you or I.
He too has his way,
Even though he may
Wander through the day
Like the fly who has just
Strayed through our room.
13
fire and earth
Out of the fire and earth,
Tell me which ascends, for
It seems that a fixed frame
Is stretched by hidden force,
Whilst that, is constrained.
Each goes toward the other
And appears to be at odds.
Like a Christ hanging dying
Nailed to a wooden cross,
Where both fire and earth
Contend, a burning contest
From which we all flee, but
To which Himself did send.
12
the fox
Beautiful creature shaking my heart
With your stride,
Raising a moment,
Lifting our pride in late December
With such grey slumbering of green
Like my own senses,
Half asleep,
Yet just, I spied your loping beauty
And the keen life within me rose,
For your
Autumn colours
And sheen, in full arching splendour.
11
moon
By reflecting the Sun
In a stepped down way,
To give us the measure,
She’s a calculus moon.
With soft glowing bone
Of urges and promise,
Weaving silvery snares,
She’s an enticing moon.
Of her radiant sphere,
With every difference,
And all contradiction,
She’s a wisdom moon.
As quiescent receiver,
Of our sun-fire desire,
Yet patient kind cool,
A Hand Maiden moon.
10
pebble and the Pond
Pebble and the Pond
So different, one small hard,
The other, voluminous round.
He the donor, she receiving,
(Though somewhat unmoved)
Yet, marks honestly his passing
With an exact ripple or two -
A sincere reflection of his efforts
For a little stirring of her deep waters
Whilst he, thrusting himself at her,
Is disappointed with the effect...
And further, at how quickly she forgets,
As she waits for the next little plonk,
That makes another grand entry
And which she happily receives,
(As she did all the others)...
That vainly came her way and
Thought to make a difference.
9
hares in the mist
Two warm solid creatures, unmoving,
partly cloaked in a translucent mist.
Quivering with life. Standing together.
Me, rooted in cold air, watching,
Breath held in joy at the sight.
We gazed for a moment
One on the other, enthralled,
Across a chasm that has no bridge.
Yet my heart leaped for these my brothers
(and I would have given them my all).
How long we communed, I don’t know.
They seeming to sense this our breach,
Turned, and without hurry departed
Into the fog, that gently gathered them
Up and thus so to speak, the vision faded.
8
the blue jug
Cool container
Of big fire burning,
Perfect shape
For infinite knowing,
Secret love
For small flower yearning,
To grow.
7
snow on a branch
I see snow on a branch,
White on black, a little wall
Piled just high, tentative shy
Companions lying there
Testing the ground. One
Light-airy the other sound.
I feel their peace and soft
Embrace unperturbed by
My invading eye. Who would
Think their secret love lay
Where, all around there’s so
Much sound and smiley stare?
6
brain
He surfs the slipstream
Of a moment now gone,
Using that picky finger
Sticky with old entrails,
Making sly calculations,
And such a sad carcass,
Of the Living Unicorn…
Whom he can never see,
Couldn’t possibly know,
Then the drawing you in
And his scorn, his din if
You do dare refuse him.
5
you let go and fall
You let go and fall,
The fever rises.
You fall into days
That have no name,
No surprises, hazy,
Just a little pain.
Outside the river
Of people passes.
Inside you dance,
You softly strain, to
A wild new drum of
High desert places.
4
to strip a thing bare
To strip a thing bare,
And to feel the loss
Of that which was
Most expected there,
Is a chance to live,
And to let that snare
Lift us up and fling
us free, for it comes
To each according
To desire, so that we,
With a full-compass
Eye, will learn to see.
3
tree in spring
Trickle of juice,
That must arise.
Branching tender wood,
Searching, feeling for life.
This tree unveiled, revealing,
The one and many
Who are the same.
Coursing through our vessel
The same sap flung wide
Again and again
Sweet Mercy fall as gentle dew
Un-strained and dull this
Our aching pain.
2
fallen angel
I came out of a shop and there he was,
Like a fallen angel blocking the traffic.
A few men stood around trying to help,
Amidst the gathering gloom and lights.
I watched fevered attempts to free his leg,
Held fast by his iron machine, his friend,
His Pegasus rudely snatched from her glide,
Rare creatures of a night sky brought down.
The leathered arms and shoulders struggle,
Frantic to be away, but alas, he was pinned.
The fallen angel, with the failing light, and
The shivers of excitement from passers by
1
in the quiet time
In the quiet time when nothing happens,
And the silence is like a chopping board
Waiting for the knife - I am happy.
Is this why I chose to live alone?
It is a short time we have, the years
Tumbling down with our ageing bones, thus
It is right and fitting to sit in silence and
Watch whilst we are still strong.
What we may find there, who can tell?
For it is beyond the measure. Yet, let us
Go for a little while each day and drink
From the cool water rising in that spring.
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