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Lennox Jones Dec 2014
A young man was walking along when he came across monk who was sitting on the side of the path meditating.

The young man, curiously stopped. “You are not from here? For I know everyone in this kingdom, and everyone know who I am. My name is Narcissus, son of Cephissus, and I am King of this land. Where do you come from, and what are you doing in my kingdom?

The Buddhist monk sat silently, and continued to meditate. His eyes were closed and at his side was a banana and a pale of water.

“Did you hear me? I am Narcissus and I am King of this land. If you know me like my people do, you would know that; I am honest, I am kind, and I am loving and full of compassion. I am fair and just. I am an advocate of peace, I judge no-one, and my subjects love me. And you sir, what are you?”

The monk opened his eyes, took the banana and peeled it. He halved it and offered Narcissus the King the other half, then continued meditating without saying a word.

Narcissus ate his banana, musing at the monk who didn’t speak. Why do you not speak?” asked Narcissus. I am the King and I demand to be answered when I ask a question.”

It was deathly hot, so the monk offered Narcissus a drink from his pale of water.

“I am thirsty. I will accept your offer,” said Narcissus. He drank all that was in the ladle and helped himself to another. He stood and waited for the water in the pale to become still again. Then he pitched over and looked into it, admiring his reflection, and smiled. I am still beautiful he thought. Again he addressed the monk, asking him who he was.

The monk leant over and kissed Narcissus on the feet, and bowed to him without saying a word.

Narcissus peered down at monk, smiled, and said to himself, “strange man,” and moved on.

The monk resumed his position, smiled, and whispered to himself,
“I am nothing.”
Lennox Jones Dec 2014
Even the floor board from the hallway
creaks in delight when you
step upon it,
patiently waiting, hoping
your sole will
move silently
across it once more.

Step on me endlessly
and let our body’s creak
to remind the floorboard
of where you are
and you are coming.
Lennox Jones Dec 2014
i have lived in this
windswept place too long.
rain thrums on
corrugated acoustics,
dust stirs, hoping
that one day you will
drift back and
lay rest at my side.

i’d stroke your cheek
kiss your lips,
lie you down,
bite your chin,
stroke your thigh
out and in,

I’d comb my fingers
through your hair
all the way down
to the small
of your back.

and let not
any of it
not one moment
end... in ...dust
Lennox Jones Dec 2014
You are written
in the stories that
have not been told.

You lie beyond
imagination
in the realm
of nothingness.

Lie beside me
and let us create
the untold stories.

Let immortality
be our poetry,
the novels, the prose.

Let steam rise
and tantalise
every mind
from every page,
and every pore.
Lennox Jones Dec 2014
The pessimist says, “What a crap day, we can’t do anything in this rain.”
The optimist says, “Look, there’s blue sky over there.”
The realist puts on their dancing shoes.
Lennox Jones Dec 2014
I glided through
the diaphanous breeze
with a desolate hope
that I would find my
way through the haze.

I stopped to rest,
finding solace  
in the pounding
syllables of the sea
where I could see your
glimmer in every wave.
Lennox Jones Dec 2014
We're all
just each
others imagination
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