Friday, 26 February 2021

Free Form No.8

 
The loaded words
Serving solely to misguide,
A fantastic journey
Into dream and delusion—
 
The adventurous ride
Into painted meadows
And high-tech cities,
We fly like Scrooge—
 
So lucid, so bright,
The words do hint
At facts so rooted
In common ground—
 
But alas, behold,
The lurking daemon
Behind the garb
Of loosely fitting
Robes and lavish
Yet cheap polyester—
 
The elusive form
Speaking only in riddles
And haunting tales
Calling forth fancy views
Of transient charm—

The expanding girth
Of one so smart,
The rarefied potency
Incessantly infusing
Its molecular odour
Indiscriminately through—
 
What a terrible trick!
Yet who's to blame?
For afflicted is all
By this evasive cause—

Hands thrown up!
Sigh light in knowing
Ills perceived
Are just illusion—
 
For here we sit
In silent being,
Ravished not
By dismal scenes
Of fading fights
And startling news—
 
The parasitic leech
Is shaken off,
Falling hard
Does wriggle
In drying death
And dusty dissolution—
 
Until emerging from
The desert ground
One violet pulse
Of pulpy growth—
 
With this timeless act
Of effortless strength,
The greater field,
The unwavering friend,
Shows its face
In ceaseless presence—
 
The very bed
Of all delusion.
 
MS21
 






 
 

 
 

Saturday, 13 February 2021

Snow Outside

 

The quiet flurries of snow descended across
The light-blue-tinted-dawn-sky—
Only visible while passing in front
Of dark yet muted evergreens
Standing stoically in the snow.

The chill outside was felt inside
Notwithstanding the sweat-bearing windows
And the trembling heater in service.

Just as the cold was felt within,
So too were past experiences reflected inside,
Their factual intensity diminished over time
And their clarity impeded by the accrual of more.

The seagulls carving through the air from tree to tree,
Swooping and curving in graceful lines,
Were in fact playing in the falling snow.

The intellect of man, clever in its nature,
Serves the self but how dangerous to follow
Its command when not infused by the spring dawn.

MS21

Tuesday, 2 February 2021

Looking out onto Space

Looking out onto Space

An unfathomable distance
So conceived

The absolute darkness,
The blindness seen

Alone with a candle
Piercing darkness with light

The boundless chasm
Without reply,

Accepting the glow
In unwanting quiet—

Looking down at my hands
In flickering hues

The truth of the flame,
Its mark it made.

The warmth was felt
By source so near

And eyes rejoiced
At sights so clear.

Still deeper yet
The gratitude lay

The darkness speaking
Not to the ears

But in silent being
Its language conveyed.

Received by same (inside myself)
The pervasive noir—

The inexhaustible field
Of unyielding birth

Without time nor object
Without distance nor wait—

Behold the unfathomable
Bounty of blackness,

Our humble flame,
Without which

Could not live,
Nor so the day

Be born anew
In endless cycles

Of life renewed.

MS21

Saturday, 30 January 2021

Non-Local Movement No.1

 

Non-Local Movement No.1 - 2018

 

The beauty of movement caught by the silent eye of the observer,
Watching, accepting, allowing, receiving.
In stillness, the eye is open with the fire of attention,
Which burns invisibly leaving the container yet to be filled—
Never filled, always open and empty, receiving
The flowing contents of interrelated parts—
Inconceivable to the discerning system.
The eye is not separate from the vast stream
Entering. The eye breathes with blood,
And in its wholeness, outpours a polar opposite—
Spinning together, intermingling with all other actions
Never ceasing, the cosmic dance of infinite pieces
goes on into the night.
The moonlight is on the gurgling brook.

 

MS2018

Sunday, 17 January 2021

Gesture No.1 (short poem)


So delicate, the particular view,
Gazing out the window—

The sounds from inside
Softly yet densely
Rebounding around
In indistinct and distorted
Rings and chimes.

MS21

Friday, 8 January 2021

Freeform No.7

 

The incomprehensible dream
Looses integrity
As Time as we know it
Begins to flicker
"Real, unreal, real..."
In chaotic switch patterns
Complimentary and
Momentary—

As the film wears
From repetition
The noisy breaks
Call out for attention
In its final attempt
To establish its
Thin and flimsy
Existence as the one
And only truth.

MS2021

Monday, 21 December 2020

Winter 2020 - a short poem



The snow began flooding down
in dense plentitude—

The biting cold emerged
In an insensible gradation—

As Winter was upon us
The view from the inside
Changed wholly—

The smooth chill
Underlaid the dry air
Emanating from the heater—

The outside cold
With perfect pitch
Listened to the flames
Of the fire
Crackle and pop

In the evening abode

MS2020