Arriving Almost Ready

I tune to the sound of wings

Hummingbird suckling geranium in sunlight

I do not like this book I am reading

Grateful for content that distracts

I am sitting in an uncomfortable chair

Obscured by holly leaves

This morning augmented with sculpted sacred stand ins

I dreamed last night of returning

Red flannel shirt faded jeans brown laces ankle boots

I pushed my desk inside lines

Conformity or belonging

A woman’s forever home now inhabited by strangers

I saw old hazel eyes as we were children

Singing the same song

John Lee’s Boom Boom

Right melody wrong lyric

Inhale rhythm resist lure

I am sitting still looking

Metres from maybe inches

I plant these red ones for her

Favourites

She mapped a meticulous design

Imagination Manifest these shapes

I arrive as if for a benefit

She falls from a ladder

Over there where the concrete is so unforgiving

I yield no sadness yet water flows free from these eyes

Presence is

I begin to understand

Or succumb

Krishnamurti on education

A Christening

Watchful watching watcher

Have I Noticed

Offerings of kindness

Rising in many voices

A choir of improvised repertoire

Without a director mouthing

Cues or wielding a baton

Movements of compassion

Calls for vigils of the voiceless

Sufferers hidden or locked away

Unimportant stragglers occupying

Shadowy edges of humanity

Fields of creativity

Undulating without want of rest

Collaborations across borders

Unheard of and unknown linking minds

With restlessly famous

Nests of hummingbirds

Barely larger than fairytale thimbles

Revealed as unexpected gifts

These hours and days of altered stasis

Toss madness with solitude’s clarity and wonder

I Tried but Could Not Yet

I tried but I cannot yet do what must be done

Write a simple sonnet the friendly man says

Begin right after I read you this one

Maybe I haven’t yet worked hard enough

He seems so sure I’ll find the flow

Write about flowers or write about the blues

Write fourteen lines about buying new red shoes

Write a simple sonnet the friendly man says

Soon as you do you’ll be slipping into some silver sonic address

Reciting Dante while riding a horse called Volta

Through some echoing ancient forest

Next to Prosodic Avenue

I’ll be waiting for you.

Pencil on paper. Images arise. Message received.

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