on the windowsill
the little Buddah
I bought in the Portobello Road
when I first learnt to meditate
fifty years on
and I finally get it
a thousand YouTube gurus
have their say
he says nothing
and that is all I need today
the miraculous company of birds
contemplate the air that we breathe
this open field
the gentle rustling of leaves
and all around
then observe
the miraculous company of birds
maybe then
you will believe
there is an end to suffering
maybe then
you will believe
there is a place called everywhere
all on a summer’s day
I placed my feet in water
that sprang from sacred ground
the stones like silent counsellors
my wife and child stood round
some part of me I left there
it being so hot that day
the things that we remember
as memory falls away
a life as soft as water
a pillow where I lay
a pool along the wayside
all on a summer’s day
in time of cloud
of [or pertaining to]
spring
these quick awakenings
no longer beset by passion
once pursued
care unallowed
now sensing the sun overhead
in time of cloud
all is renewed
garden of stones
I opened the gate
on a garden of stones
at a house on the edge of the world
surrounded by love
and the darkness of night
the uncomplicated attention
of quiet things
always
like someone
throwing the curtains open
on a glorious summer day
it has always been this way
letter to none
I never wrote to you –
perhaps I should
love ties rope round
and then it pulls
leaves us stretching
like a kid under a tree
for one bright apple
nobody sees
I don’t like apples –
never did
don’t eat fruit much
and won’t until
sweet berries lean
towards my door
and that will happen
to me no more
failure to thrive
I found a flat grey stone on the beach
with scratch marks
scored deeply on one side
it reminded me of something I couldn’t account for
so I placed it in the yard
with other things I don’t care about
and thought no more of it
when I saw it again
the lines seemed more pronounced
(it may have been the light)
but it no longer reminded me of anything
other than how a young child starved of love
will fail to thrive
next day
I returned it to the beach
a three-legged dog followed me home
but I don’t want him
crumbs
when the pheasant hit the window
we were eating cake
lemon crumbs on our lips
I could have kissed you
but didn’t
[first posted 23 May 2015]
line breaks
I awoke unable to remember
how or why we write poems
or make these line breaks
alerting us to another way
of reading and seeing
now I remember
meanwhile
rainwater collecting in buckets
shines like something holy
