all stillness
outside my door
stirrings invisible
to my myopia
yet I am
content in view
deep witness
to every thing
my heart holding
Time🪶
Night Hush
Tag Archives: Observation
A Hole in the Wall
Sheep watch with curiosity ready
for flight should you become dangerous
Talk soft like you place your boots
hoping there’s no bog below to seep in
Green is green
Ocean’s wild
You’re an actor in this epic scene
You alone with your whispers and wonder
Lean into stone window for faerie views
No one but painted sheep to question you
Bees
Fortune arrives to those who expect it
Who said that, asks the one still waiting
Bees forfeit sunlit blossoms to suckle a blank wall instead
What made sense yesterday leaves a smudge for us to ponder
A circle is unending like a fortress of safety forever watchful
But through a new jaded pair of eyes a circle is a prison
From which only the secretive and most cunning may manage escape
Tunnelling through ages of rotted ideas and misguided plans
Breathing shallow so as to avoid disease by the effort
Believe in change, the mantra humming in their heaving chests
Through filth and squalor a sliver of light hints at silver
Bees circle upon walls, forfeiting temptation’s blossoms
Allowing either conspicuous gaps or innocuous bee suckling spaces
Readying themselves for the new age where winged things flourish
Where honey is the preferred currency
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.
Light
Shoes are optional
No one stands guard
No entry fee or protocol
you you You arrive
Ask: is this my home?
Is this the beginning of the journey—My Journey
—Is it The End?
Not much on offer in view
Many before you have crossed
Limestone is reliable shelter
You could enter settle stay
While you contemplate others’ bones sink deeper
These walls are reinforced by thousands
who arrived hesitated undecided lived died calcified
Are you hungry?
Is imagination driving you forward or rendering you static?
Is your heart—
you remembered to bring it, yes?
Is your heartbeat a barely detectable murmur or a drumline of thunder?
What are the lyrics to Your Song
or have you not yet written them in invisible ink upon Your Skin?
You willed yourself here
Look around
You are alone but for birdsong wind green leaves clay and stone
bteatne
Repeat
It means nothing
Inhale now stretch clench your jaw close your eyes
Howl until all breath is spent
Then step one foot in front of the other as though
you know Your Intention acknowledge it
as You Walk with confidence toward The Light
Time is fading and despite appearances The Journey is long
rife with tricksters detours delays poor signage distractions
Your purpose is not singular
Your path is not direct
and Life is positively short.
Sunday
Sundays I move quiet
through house street wood
listening for birdsong
wave off voices of what should
Sundays I step slow
close observe neighbourhood
Sunday time
sunrise to dreamline—
all mine.
Pencil Notes 