Edges of perception

Rain in the jacuzzi
A toddlers feet in clear, cold sea
Wind whipping the sunlit tree tops
Around and above all we see
Is a beautiful contrast
A goldmine at the edges of perception

You are

You are the contents of your mind
You are changing constantly
You are still
You are ashamed of what you are
You are everything you want to be
You are a mystery to unravel
You are boring
You are mindful of your mind
You are blissfully ignorant
You are defending a thought to the death
You are exhausted
You have everything worked out
You are powerless and falling apart
You do not exist
You are the most important thing in the universe
You are enlightened
You are absurd
You are the sum of electrons in the brain
You are a miracle
You are all of these things
You are none of them
You are…

Imaginary

If we are all an imaginary construct
Of our own mind
Then everything we understand
Or think we understand
Is imaginary too

Misery, no misery

Stop looking for answers elsewhere. Abide in your misery, if that be your lot, and see at its heart that it is not misery at all, but something glorious, something ordained by no one, but wonderful all the same.

Butterfly

Poetry, a butterfly’s wings
A delicate supposition, neither here nor there
Hinting at more than can be said
Places these words might take you
But look too closely and you’ll fall
To where nothing has any meaning at all

Time goes slow

Time goes slow
When we look to the future,
Wishing we were anywhere but here.
Do we have the resources to fill the space,
Between what is and want we want –
Not by leaving this behind,
But by making now what we want?
It’s harder than you think to stay concentrated, keep yourself entertained,and not simply sleep through the greater part of life.
Try it.

Words…

Words can hint at depths too deep to swim,
Gulfs too wide for fragile man,
Lives too numerous for this heart
To beat them all;
Winter’s breath of sorrow,
Spring’s new born youth,
The juice of life freshly pressed
On the page for easy reading.
And yet…the void of our incomprehension calls;
Tears for that so far beyond us,
Like a child’s first glimpse of love
In the eyes of passing strangers.

Feelings, thought, intuition and sensing

Feeling is…

Geese hooting at the moon over water,

The gentle lap of waves on the shore

Thinking is…

Tilting scales on creaking chain,

Not a grain of sand is lost

Intuition is…

Sparks that fly from the fireside,

Eyes that stray to the stars

Sensing is…

Soil under feet,

Loamy taste of earth on fingers

What do books know?

A few books (15-4-2011)

What do books know?
They are a menu that will never be eaten,
Blood too dry to offer nourishment,
That is why my pen never stops,
Its words may speak to the soul today,
But tomorrow their best use may be toilet paper,
Humour or cynicism –
There can be little difference here,
So let’s share a beer and laugh,
At our misfortunes,
And keep the pen moving,
The blood flowing,
Our hearts emptying,
For to fill a thing we must first empty it –
Hope, yes take that if you wish
And hear my laughter,
Its interpretation changes day to day,
Up to down and left to right,
Let me be a poet, a scientist, a warrior and a womaniser,
Until the roles fall away,
And the pen bleeds out its cartridge upon the world,
And inky night claims us all,
Till then, write on

Concentration

A thin umbra of light,

All beyond is darkness, irrelevance,

There is only the now,

The fist, the blood and the pain…

And the joy, the unbearable, unbreakable joy

Of living,

In pure concentration,

This poem –

All that’s left behind

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