You write for enlightment
The purpose of writing
Is capturing a lightning
That is gone in a flash.
Being a poet is
Wrapping up flames
With nothing but paper
As the resultant ember
Becomes an assault
On the limitations
And confines
Placed on humanity.
Being a poet
Is being a star
That is either dead
Or carrying a burnt
Existence
Just to guide those
Who are lost
With the light of love.

I have looked at sunsets as long as they lasted
the reds and the golds and the pinks of them
the play of light on the edges of clouds
the changing shadows over the land.
I have watched the sea steadily rolling in wave after wave
breaking against the rocks with the energy of distant storms
or gently lapping at softer shores.
I have gazed up at the brilliance
of a black night of stars million upon million
no moon to dim their richness.
I have seen the hidden blues and greens in a slow river of ice.
I have known forests and mountains.

I have known you also and you no less
are part of the universe.  I can admire
the changing sky in the colour of your eyes
the moving sea in the curve of your neck
the wonder of an opening rosebud
in the crook of your elbow.

as the sun will rest,
the horizon as its bed,
beautiful in sleep

Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock.
    “Now they are all on their knees,”
An elder said as we sat in a flock
    By the embers in hearthside ease.

We pictured the meek mild creatures where
    They dwelt in their strawy pen,
Nor did it occur to one of us there
    To doubt they were kneeling then.

So fair a fancy few would weave
    In these years! Yet, I feel,
If someone said on Christmas Eve,
    “Come; see the oxen kneel,

“In the lonely barton by yonder coomb
    Our childhood used to know,”
I should go with him in the gloom,
    Hoping it might be so.

Today I'm craving touch
I'm craving that the outside world will remind me I'm real
Or maybe I'm craving the absence of
The world
Maybe I'm craving the absence of myself
Maybe I'm craving to disappear

Today I'm craving knowledge
The knowledge of what I want

Amy is a clever girl
So confident and bright
Her work is always in on time
She always gets it right!

And if it's not she takes advice
Corrections quickly made
Performance wise, what can I say?
She's brilliant on the stage!

So, farewell pretty girl
Good luck, you will go far
I know that in the coming years
You'll shine and be a star!

20/4/2016

Spring in California
feels like the dream;
meadows high with sunshine
brushing hips

Oxalic sour grass on your lips
sweet sweet berry

Painted clouds, straight
from your breath

It is falling in love
only,
if you see it