Pause

Seeing reflections as they dance
to life’s ongoing masquerade
I pause to admire patterns
created with such magic
as only imagination can enhance

I pause also to ponder
only to fail in my thoughts,
for my reflection
dances
when I cannot

My eyes

My eyes, aware of such
aware of light
aware of all things to delight

my eyes see things
I cannot see
their tiredness seeks a reason

Winter’s killing grip takes hold
to cleanse the air of much
It brings about a strange old feeling
… your eyes, aware of such

My eyes weep not
at the sight of love
for that sweet thing is lost

my eyes, aware of such
aware of time
aware of sunset’s rusty rime

Connections

Connections complete us
and compete with us.

As one connection is made
so another fades.

This is the reality of life
the order of things.

A heartbeat is merely an echo
of silence
and within this silence
connections are made and lost.

A breath is nothing but
an exhumation of time
and within this time
we are being destroyed.

A touch is sufficient enough
for a soul to reach its purpose
and within this purpose
is love.

A living thought is dependent
upon its merit
for we are beings with the potential
to create malignant or benevolent connections.

This is the reality of life
the order of things.

As one connection is made
so another fades.

Connections complete us
and compete with us.

A foothold

light begins,
more than anything else
it begins.

Before time etched itself
upon humankind
it sidled up to the light
thus giving light a foothold
from where it began
to begin
giving.

Life, therefore, had no option
and once it too began
it couldn’t stop itself from
being itself
and from that instance
came that change
creeping along time
to give of itself
a beginning for life
to hold onto
until life
shed its skin
to rise up its being
and breathe

and so life began,
more than anything else
it began
to die.

Eye of the storm

It’s
understandable I suppose

we reach a point
where nothing exists

we reach that moment
when birds fail

and the trees
already slow in their time
inhale the heartbeats of life

One dares not
open the door
for fear of the shattering

and the not knowing
of what lies
beyond the silence

 

As tea is sipped

Is it so high
so far above?

Reaching for a leaf
a cloud
a star

Reaching for a feather
thunder
blue

Is it so high
so far above
or is it that I
have not given enough thought

Time does not exist
we invented a name
to make us feel safe
but instead we count
the minutes until the tea is brewed
and in that “time”
millions, billions, trillions of things
live and die
in the blink of an eye

and we have not given enough
thought to each other
and why should we
when in the blink of an eye
the cup is empty.

What she gave me

It was such a long time ago when she gave me a gift; I didn’t know what it meant, perhaps I still don’t. Time is a distant memory and it was a very long time ago, but so is now and we have so little of it. Looking back I see I can fold time and see her, but not see her.

This memory thing we have, this prophetic voice inside us tells us things we remember and we use these things to prophesize our lives. All because of time and our running out of it. We believe in something ghostly. We trust in something distant from our understanding and so we live not for ourselves but for our memories of time yet within us knowledge exists and so we listen to the teachers, but are they right or wrong?

~

A little side note here.

I am currently working on my new collection of poetry, similar in size to Broken Roses and kind of carrying on from that book but not so dark and deathly. This was the last poem I was going to include and thought it would work as a prose poem but seeing it like this I don’t think it does as it reads more as an essay type thing so here it is for you all to peruse.

Thank you again to those who have bought my books, you’re all very my appreciated.