Posts tagged ‘unity’

20/10/2013

There is (No Like)

 

The thoughts are drops which form and roll,

Are watched a while like birds or breath,

Like everything that they are not.

Within themselves there is no “like”.

 

To journey and become again.

To be a thought amongst the thoughts.

To pass beyond all hope and loss.

To be the emptiness of thought.

 

When nothing is the world, there is

In golden light, in umber night,

In waveforms scattered out: there is

No space but space, no time but time.

 

There is a thought which rolls and forms:

A single drop of all there is.

 

This poem was written as a response to the photograph by artist Cheryl Garner. It is part of an on-going journey.

The photographs, with poems, can be found at:

www.thecheesewolf.co.uk/category/vicarious-journeys/

the work of Cheryl Garner can be found at:

http://cherylgarner.squarespace.com/

 

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29/08/2013

The One Consoling Beauty

 

The one consoling beauty is

These words will fade and pass away.

The sun will dim, the moon will fall,

And everything will cease to be.

 

We’re one: we’re all just one alone.

The earth and sky, the walls of stone,

The foals and horses running free,

Yes, everything will cease to be.

 

I touch your hair, and know its flow.

There is a tear beneath the smile,

And after all, it had to come,

For everything must cease to be.

 

I breath the air: it reeks of pasts,

Of love which came and meant so much.

 

 

12/05/2013

Time Planners

 

Were we to run the clocks instead,

We’d plan the world as dreamers do,

With moments set aside for sleep,

The rest carved up for us to use.

 

The hardest hours would be the ones

Where necessary chores were shared.

Remunerations would be paid

In week-ends stretching on for months.

 

And soon we’d lose all sense of time,

And clocks would tick ‘til batteries died,

And light and night would merge and mix.

 

And soon we’d lose all sense of us,

As married day and married dark,

Would form our perfect, timeless heart.

 

 

11/04/2013

A Breath (A Stream)

 

The simple contact of the stream,

A touch of ice which fell as rain

And soaked the paws of hunting wolves.

A mix of mists condensed on ferns.

 

The breath of trees through ancient leaves

Which hid a thousand goshawk nests,

And oaks on oaks have hidden more,

And added streams to other streams.

 

Around the fish the waters flow,

And through the water spectrum’s bend,

And in those prisms histories meld,

And through those pasts the fish still breathe.

 

I run my fingers through the stream,

And all is now, and always was.

 

 

11/06/2012

Epitaph

 

Outside the time of human facts

The dead come calling from the swamps.

The birds and butterflies don’t change.

The rocks once cast and carved remain.

 

The fears and sorrows flow like springs,

All down the ages stay the same.

And yours and mine are never lost:

They’ve found their place and blow like dust.

 

And these emotions, streams and hills

Are flesh beneath our shifting skin,

Are sight behind our blinking lids,

Are answers lost to truths and gods.

 

The swamps are deep and thick with snakes,

It’s there – in peace – we lose our hopes.