There is then and there is now
before and after
There is
the difference between
occupied and vacant
Pulse
Breath
break
Silence
these bare walls
Brother
Tag Archives: contemplation
Morning
While I lay restless dreaming
Moon slipped behind the mountain
Still I trust she was there
I am a reliable witness to events past
Therefore—
In the lambent light of this new morning
Remnants of my vivid dreamscape linger
A part of me remains present there
A mime with an indecipherable message
While I sip cinnamon coffee, breathe slow, read words from my morning text
Then read the same line again to embed
Both there and here
Presence and Absence
Which scene is this then and what act
Who’s offstage to feed my forgotten lines
Is the sky out my window the opening
Or the denouement
Is there a pause feature in this plot
I have questions to answers I think you know
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
Reaching
Morning breaks easy
Not a sound to distract
Slip soft out of slumber
Shake thoughts from my mind
I look to blank ceiling
Off white blank pristine
Light and shadow convergence
I’m reaching through silent spaces
Expecting smooth sailing
Expecting to fly
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
Wings
You don’t have to fly
Knowledge holds the sight in you
Wings like silent peaks
Pencil Notes 