I Hear About These Ocean Planets

I hear about these ocean planets
Where water may be kilometres deep
Where don’t exist the coastlines of continents
No shoreline at all, no waves gently lapping on beaches.

No shirr and tumble on soft sand
No suck and tidal tug of broken shells
No constant fingering at the edges of estuary
Just the sphere of shimmering and surging and still sea.

I hear about the primordial forest
Where the air is unbroken by birdsong
No sudden liquid eruption or casual chirruping
Where the movement is only of beetles and dragonflies.

The flit and rustle and stir of wing
Humming and droning and murmuring
The swarm and coruscation of chitinous flight
But no cool cadence of evening song by a bird on a limb.

I hear of some meditations within
Attention drops below covering clouds
In the rare atmosphere the silent mind dwells
And extends all around until circumnavigation complete.

I hear from some forest far below
The walk and stirring of the Lord of life
When by a pool ripples up the one clear note
On resplendent wings I now fly to draw near the source.


For Who Might See

You – did you know me when
I fell into the ageless well within?

And you – did you watch me while
I lingered before the flame
Of my Beloved’s smile?

Perhaps you – you saw me dance.
Did you taste the kiss of who
I touched in trance?

Maybe you – in your eyes I recall
A fleeting light:
A moon between clouds
On a stillborn night.


Rest My Tired Soul

Rest, my tired soul
At the foot of this falling water.
See the wide arms of softened rock
Woven again into moss and bush
Welcome my small body on this opposite bank.

Hush, my climbing thoughts.
Let the rustle and the lisp of lacy water
Brush my mind away, and listen
For the gulp and the swallow under this
Where bass notes on rocky chambers play.

Sing, my worn-out senses.
See the beak of blackbird dipping
And the scuttling, skipping of his feet
Take a rising path through leaves and moss
All the way up this wet-soaked bank.

Feel, my frozen clay of skin.
Count the waves of ripples swaying
Folding the light towards my feet
The sweep of breeze and green fronds nodding
Yes, I’m related to this scene.

Pause, my moving life.
Study the constancy of this waterfall
The left, the right, the middle paths white
Of milk of Mother Nature’s dream
Casting small boats of fleck and bubble before me.

Warm, my tired heart and mind.
This course of life-renewing kindness
Is written within me too, my body’s tides
Of falling and rising waves of energy
Are held by earth and stream and sun.

19 – 11 – 2010


The rock that sits
that waits in the corner
Behind the door
should it be needed
As a doorstop.

The picture of my guru
arms upraised in blessing
That never tire;
the fullness of that moment
As a constant reminder.

The tan underside
of the guitar strap
Turned to view.
No shoulder needs
To stretch its weight.

The droop of the lily
over the horizon of the pot.
My mind resting enough
to note its want of me
With a little water to revive.