Tag Archives: contemplation

Purposeful Purposeless

Go to the beach. Go to the part where nobody lingers. The heron is watching. Seagulls survey. There’s the smell of saltwater. Seaweed tangled among stones. Fragments of shells. Half crabs. Splinters of sunwashed bone. Hear the song of the waves drifting out drifting in. Redwinged Blackbird calls from undercover of wild roses.

Driftwood messengers

Heartbeat rhythm on the wind

Shifts of time

Navigation

clarity

contemplate your resurrection path

winds are strong today

avert the fragile makers

empty vessels travel weightless

anchors having all rusted away

your hair obscures your view

yet you see what needs be seen

a blurring

a sign

a single thread

soft speaking from the edge of

a craggy cliff

a hem of your old sweatshirt

Sky Talk

Study the language

What is the first line

When did your understanding begin

How many questions have you asked

Why not

Who are you now

Who were you before

What is the one purpose to which you aspire

The sky delivers notes on a messenger bird

Check your pockets

You may imagine you need a translator

You need only be still

Be

What is the message

What does a sky know anyway

More than I

More than you

A dimensional traveller

A seer

A curator of acts

A promulgator of fate

A harbinger

A collage of beauty and debris

A curtain of velvet and chain

A theatre of death metal and symphony

A canvas for reverence and horror

A chameleon of change and stasis

A prophet of mysterium tremendum

Whose eyes witness this same sky

What message do you send

When you believe no one sees

But the eyes of your intention

What is your métier

Today is the matter

Tomorrow you may know better

Forever soars with tireless wings

There Is No Paper

In the corner of the room, a desk

On the corner of the desk, a microwave

On top of the microwave, a coffee pot

There is a lamp

There is a chair

There is a drawer and I slide it open

There are specks of something, marks of age

There is no paper

There is no need now for it I suppose

People shout their words in their own minds

Tap their concerns by rapid thumb code

Release complaints into social media clouds

Fold their lists into threads of like thinkers

Yet a pencil in hand scratches a road map

A fine point pen follows a river of story

A fury may be transformed to understanding

Fire and rant invited to reason, new passage

Some hold steady the significance of tools

Language and words yearn for expression

Without keys our luggage becomes burden

Or too much a mystery to be discovered

Tunnels of discovery dark and foreboding

We invest in explosives ensuring no passage

Out

A face is pressed against a window watching

sun’s slow slumber falling behind low hills

A face is thin lines etched into vapour caught

between distance and moments of deep winter freeze

Your face invisible

recording passing scenes

You are a passenger

This is a speeding vessel

You are not aimless but

I am only part time a driver

My attention wavers from

this winding road our wheels move along

That lake looks lonesome

like a wanderer dreaming of home.

Bench

Hurry your eloquent passion

Time slicing devisor of measures

Breathing’s an act of deliberate intention

Dancers like you touching ground

Leave no trace evidence for eyes

Resting comes soon with practice

A bench to contemplate grace

Warmed by hours in afternoon sunlight

Twilight arrives with patient treasure

Gathered from days of the world

Cheers to the moon

Here’s to the garden man

raises a sign on country road

hopes some passersby may come

buy vegetables

He digs deep his rich garden dirt

while his dog sniffs up your walking shoes

Here’s to his beaten chair

worn from sun baking

contemplating how long must he wait

for good news

Here’s to hours after midnight

gazing up at silent skies

listening to solace rolling through

still as art on the wall

Here’s to the moon

shining bright like a headlight

take a breath take it in

let down your delicate within

for now everything feels alright

Shifts

I am far away now

from everything familiar

It’s after sundown, dark

The air smells of smoke

heavy from bamboo smouldering

Crickets are singing, or katydids

And something else

A woman’s voice rising out of the darkness

Over there near the fields

we rode bicycles past today

She sings

or keens

The melody is in a minor key but

I don’t understand the language

Perhaps it’s a lullaby

I am lying here in this hammock

a young attendant just brought by and hung for me

It’s in that army camouflage pattern

In the courtyard, I saw samples of bombs

grenades and land mines recovered from the landscape here

I am looking at my familiar from a distance

From another angle

This location in the world

I am reading Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale

I read it before, a long time ago

It seemed like brilliant fantasy work then

Science Fiction, a Fantastic Tale

It doesn’t seem like fantasy now, this time

I’ve felt the breath of Possibility.

Have I changed so?

Or has the World changed?

Maybe I have been sleeping

Maybe I’m just waking up.