Poetry - Page 1 of 8
MISTS OF TIME
Not long ago or far away
Events took place, historians say
Yet histories path cannot be found
In sight or taste or touch or sound
Only in image can we traverse
The distance covered since our birth
And if we clearly see its way
This image was freshly born today
SHIPS IN THE NIGHT
They had been together so many times
But never spoke
They had been on so many adventures
Yet never met
They had agued until dawn and completely wrecked the place
But never really saw each other's face
They had made each other sore in love
Yet never even kissed
They never ever knew this
So this they never missed
UNIVERSAL COMPASSION
I met the ancient mother of this earth
She told me of her pain
We watched the sorrow of each birth
At dawn she stole away again
My heart hears echoes of her song
In each Childs memories aeons long
Now in the dawn with night asleep
I hold you love and gently weep
Poetry - Page 2 of 8
THE SEEKERS
All these good and bad things
All these long and short things
All these black and white things
All these big and small things
We invent all these things from our side
Then squabble over them like geese
These are our inventions, not exactly lies
Not knowing this, we believe them true
And suffer as each one dies
HOPE
Through the wire in the far distance
A patch of sky cleared for a brief moment
Before becoming engulfed by factory smoke
But that's the nature of hope isn't it
To remain through all circumstance
An unchanging symbol of the intangible
While tangible phenomena forever try to corrupt its beauty
It's our nature to seek hope in the darkest of constructs
And the darkest of constructs disintegrate in nature
MOUNTAIN STREAM
When poles and spires and rooftop slates
Give way to country hillside gates
When hillside gates allow you pass
And mountain rocks replace the grass
When salmon glide beneath the dawn
In shingle beds to hide there spawn
To drink the air of this ancient place
To be here now on this ball in space.
Poetry - Page 3 of 8
THE RIVER THAMES
Seagoing inland deep and threatening
Crumbling buildings womblike surrounding
Huge slippery logs rendered matchstick in the mud
Skeleton hulls and sunken prams
Masters painted sail ships from here
In endless summer this mirror was home
No thought of hunger or danger just play
THE SHANAKI
All the village kids fetched and carried,
Mixed and hammered and painted,
The old schoolhouse groaned into a gallery shape,
Later they would see paintings from around the world,
Leafy streams and Sahara vistas,
We would mount plays in the village hall,
Hay Pat was that one done by monkeys Veg and Christmas presents would be laid at my door,
Feelings grew warm in this rich soil,
But what of the night when the roots were laid bare,
The scruffy old man,
Whose face was hewn from an old knot of oak,
He sat us around the summer nights fire,
And began to whisper secrets,
Banshees leapt from his lips to dance in the smoke,
Tir nan oge emerged from the embers,
A rebel priest stole silently through the trees by the river,
With some of Wolftones French on there way to battle,
Kids never watched TV like this,
There mouths flung open in wonder,
I never knew the heart of this place until that night.
Poetry - Page 4 of 8
THESE TRACKS THAT WE MAY LAY
These tracks that we lay, from a to b,
This train that we build, this way we see,
Our ghost like past, our future mist,
The present so real, yet not even kissed,
From birth to death, all these trains speed on,
Yet outside of all this, time is just one,
We begin our long climb from the day we are born,
But the summit is death and nothing is won,
The full moon is there, we see only its crescent,
In truth my sweet love, we are all ever present
TIME
Of time and tide a search was born
To find the night before the dawn
For if in dawn the night could last
Then time would stand and nothing pass
Is time then born of each decay
Is this the cause of night and day
And what of spring in winters death
Is this the hope upon our breath
And where is present to be found
Within this dance of sight and sound
CONCEPTUAL CAVERNS OF THE MIND
In conceptual caverns of the mind,
When all that we think is real,
A grain of sand can make us blind,
A shadow make us feel,
A path trod by few, winds between these extremes,
A path trod by few that leads from these dreams.
Poetry - Page 5 of 8
WHAT I KNOW CANNOT BE KNOWN
What I know cannot be known, for knowing, itself is a lie,
What I see cannot be seen, for sight itself obscures the view,
What I hear cannot be heard, for these ears are false,
What I smell cannot be found, for without the producer there is no product,
What I taste has no flavour, for there is no object, sense or owner,
What I touch cannot be felt, for seen as it is there are no walls,
Beyond these bars of identity, cemented in by senses and owned by an I,
There is no good, bad, harm or pleasure, no time, birth, life or death,
Nothing to protect or defend, no being or not being, no chicken or egg,
In ignorance, the dream is unknown, in knowing ignorance is a dream,
A drowning without water, a something that never really took place.
In this way the dream is woven, until the blanket becomes thick and impenetrable.
MORNING
Morning came but none seemed to notice,
That not one atom had survived the change,
All was completely new,
But the village carried on as if nothing was strange.
PRIMROSE HILL
The London sprawl,
The smoky dawn,
The drunken parties dieing yawn,
The breathless climb,
The summit slow,
Dawn chorus from the zoo below.
RAGING SEA
The most raging sea,
Comes from perfect stillness,
The darkest storm is born,
Of clear still light.
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BEAUTIFUL CHILD
The most beautiful child,
Sleeps beyond the deepest depth of night,
Hate is the chrysalis husk,
When love takes flight,
Fear is the weary sock,
On the warrior's foot,
Time is the brainchild of ignorance,
A vain attempt to order a chaos that never was.
STATELY HOME
In stately home above the weir,
The sun caught dust from open chests,
Exquisite clothes from long dead ghosts,
Our prank to dress as dinner guests,
But yellow sun through silk and lace,
On skin as soft as shifting sand,
Replaced the dinner prank with grace,
A sensual scene that none had planned.
With oily ships and buildings fast,
No grace of sail from tapered mast,
With smoky bars and lipstick red,
The moon still lights its silent bed,
The busy day will break this peace,
A bleating sheep without its fleece.
THE CLEARING
On each patch of earth a claim is laid,
By trees that grip and plants in shade,
Each insect's job description told,
Each dead leafs morsel sighed and sold,
This forest rarely trod by man,
This clearing found as if by plan,
While others toil in loam and nest,
A sole less busy takes a rest.
Poetry - Page 7 of 8
WARSAW
I felt you in the night my love, you were small and whimpering and ghostly,
I held you close to my heart and whispered in the morning light I would find you,
When you were grown you could not cry out, others were watching, though your dignity trembled in terror,
Some did but were instantly brutalised, most shuffled on in numb dejection,
I was among you but did not know that it would end or that I would be here now remembering,
As then time is not understood in this place, that you are real is never known,
So come my love, to this safe place outside of circumstance. I acknowledge your beauty, your being and your love,
Like Petra you carried your pain into death like a mauling cat,
I tried to tell him the pain had gone but could not breach his screaming,
I had to leave but now I am here fuller than before, much more awake,
Come cry in my heart, I am in that box holding you close,
I take all the love of my soul and wrap you with this blanket,
But in this peace my love you must gently listen, while I whisper you this truth,
You are wider than space, deeper than the bluest sky, your real happiness isn't known in those dark places,
Move closer into warmth, understand the inside is out, this gateway into a garden of sunshine,
This bubbling laughter and brightness is you, this is how you really are,
So watch those memories dissolve in this light and understand there real nature is not real at all,
With the foundation of that dark ignorance gone, this pain to will fade,
Be slow to take another life, have no panic, for this space will teach you,
When you are born again remember this place as your real mother,
Remember no pain from dark ignorance can ever really reach you
For your everlasting home is this total freedom and light, this all knowing love,
Knowing this, know also that you will never be alone again.
So gently follow your light and pass me on a teaching that you have arrived home.
EN SU REGRESO
Usted sueña a mi angel,
Y esta cosa nosotros la percepcion es el fabricante de sueño.
Hay sueños de, la guerra, el odio, la avaricia y auto interes.
Sus sueños son del amor y entre todo reino de otros supremo.
Nunca cierre el corazon, para el regalo que usted lleve es precioso.
Y sin la luz hermosa de este mundo seria un lugar oscuro.
Poetry - Page 8 of 8
THE GREAT WALL OF CHINA
How long have you in splendid grace,
Felt sun and rain upon your face,
A history book or carbon date,
Do little to describe your fate,
Events have etched upon your skin,
A record of this earthly din,
And you yourself just like our rust,
Will one day vanish in fine dust,
And yet you've never known the name,
That gave you this resplendent fame.
AUTUMN
When autumn comes I'll count the cost,
Of all that's won and all that's lost,
When autumn comes I'll find some time,
To seek advice from those divine,
When failing this and blown by gales,
Let go this empty hair and nails,
Let go this race that no one wins,
Let go before the winters winds.
PASSAGE OF IGNORANCE
Some thought it an unusually bright evening
Others seemed to notice nothing
I thought I saw two huge figures made of light
They bore gifts of wisdom that explained all events
However feeling I alone saw this I drew my cape tighter
Bowed my head and rode silently on into battle.