Tired, he came to the crossroads,
to the place where his own dead were buried.
His horse halted without his command,
its head bowed down to the bone dry dust of the arid hostile earth.
Even the birds were silenced.
No water was here to be found.
His life had no purpose now they were gone
but still he must travel on,
seeking the grail as he always had,
for the grail was his last long hope.
I struggled to keep a small bird alive.
The bird, tight beaked, was unwilling.
Now my mother lies curled,
The same as a bird,
Tired of this thing we call living.
If we let her go now she can open her wings,
the windows are open, flung wide.
I defend her souls right
To escape in the night
And fly into sweet oblivion.
this daily journey, marked by constant icy rain,
filling streams and hiding tears,
brings me to this silent bed again
outside the windows, blossoms slowly fall in gentle wind
but these are not the flowers she see
as she leaves here, by degrees
there is nothing to lose here
and nothing to win
out here by the ocean
cast up on the shore
grains of salt
in damp sand
fragments of shell
bubbles keep rising
to break in the air
briefly cupped in a hand
the water of life
soaks back to sand
we go and we go
and we go and we go
we go, we go
we go into the flow
spiral and helix constantly spin
it’s part of a vision
too vast to explore
I’ve seen this before
and before and before
I was an acorn, many years ago,fallen from an ancient tree to the earth below.
One day Arthur came, dreaming of the land and his ambitious plans. Absent-mindedly he stooped, bowed down to me, reaching out a hand.
with heavy footsteps
men will come, their battle plan
disturbs the forests
He held me in his palm. I saw him softly smile. He placed me in his pocket
where it was dark and warm. He was not a king to me, he was just a man. I stayed with him throughout his golden age.
here amongst blossoms
they sit and speak of glory
petals softy fall
When Arthur fell,I fell too. He fell into his long sleep of death. I fell to my birth, pressed into the earth by a careless foot, an unwitting gardener pushed me into mud. I was cradled by the earth while the country still mourned.
cradled by the earth
in knowledge of high branches
I reached up to light
I reached up to light and became a sturdy oak. Now we are a forest. We whisper this old story as wind sighs through our leaves. My children tell the tale.
A sudden hare, across the field,
Swerves and shifts, avoids the breath of death,
In shadowed cloud and sunlight leaping.
Against the light, dark wings revealed,
Downward sweeps, a shifting hawk,
A breath held tight in frozen time.
The hare escapes the talons keeping.
This life, this shifted breath, this joy, is mine.
Though we see their faces no more
those who have left us speak to us still
and always will. We hear their wise words,
when we are left far behind on the shore.
Recalled by the friends and family
and all who love them before
we can hear their voices speak in our hearts.
We do not part. They speak from our Ancestors halls.
Where one season ends another begins
as nature shows us again and again.
We pass through our spring and our summer
and the golden gathering time of the Fall.
Winter is not an endless cold season.
There is a journey ahead. No end at all.
I leaned by a wall in the hallway
dressed in a hat and a coat
with a place to go I cared nothing for
when after his death we moved out
the thought of the way an empty house echoes
after the packing cases are gone
never fails to move me or bring tears
it reminds me only of death
a hollow sound and an empty heart
if we had settled down after that
I might have gained more trust in the world
where only death is sure
it was after that I started to sleep walk
I have been sleep walking around that house
for years, in a world where I always move on
until death and the final box
they say love dwells in the heart
that red mysterious chamber
that pumps three billion times
if you are blessed to remain
for your three score year and ten
it’s so good to hear it beat
again and again and again
that reassuring thud in your chest
until the day comes
when you know that your heart
might need an operation
or a little adjustment
or even a replacement
and one thing i guarantee
it will stop in the end
it’s a fickle friend indeed
if love resides in the heart
how can we ever say
that it out lives death and stays?
i want my true love
to dwell in a safer haven
to be carried life to life
if such a thing is possible
i don’t want to forget
i want to be able to find
those people i loved
by some imbedded instinct
the next time around
and hope i may find them sooner
to not waste a single heart beat
so pump away little heart
while you are healthy and whole
but don’t expect me to trust you
to look after love everlasting
or control my deepest feelings
i will keep my love
wrapped round my soul
entwined with my deeper being
soaked into my essence
my ethereal whole
and all that’s essential
to be existential
in some other future world
my soul is always with me
thoughts of Peter Pan
his shadow shut inside a drawer
poor fellow, incomplete
no old companion at his feet
and what if all the shadows went
not just your own
imagine a wooded glade
no contrasts there at all
sun shafts and no shade
no place to hide alone
in sweet repose and rest
and in a darkened room by firelight
no shadows dancing on the wall
by shadows we are blessed
where would imagination go
with no escape from endless bright
and crystal clear illumination
I recall a walk long ago
at full moon with my love
as my shadow played with hers
crossing and blending in our path
I wondered if my shadow
was as happy then as I
a childhood friend to play with
my shadow made me think
and wonder at the world
it’s a link to see ourselves
it shrinks and stretches, grows,
depending where we go
my shadow makes me
more aware of light
it connects me to the ground
when the sun is bright
I never see it in my dreams
I wonder what that means
leaving me to sleep
it disappears at night
I wonder where it goes
no-one knows that truth
I only know that when I die
my shadow wont exist
nor me, not I
perhaps we vanish into light