Today I saw Cowslips in grass verges,
Partridges scurrying as if I were chasing them
and oh so pleasing to my eye ~
Bluebells growing randomally in spinneys
by the redbrick and flint Church set upon the rise….
In the distance, a Windturbine farm stood proudly
turning on the hill, set sound amidst the brightest yellow
of the bold rape fields and growing green of winter wheat…..
I wanted to be invisible and float there forever,
no demands, judgements or fears.
Just joy of being in and of Mother Nature….
Floating and seeing, being and not doing…..
Simply in Spirit flight, scrying the skies.
Shock hit me hard
against the wall of
your green bright room.
My painting funny and wild,
a canvas of my cheeky self….
Nothing but fun and frolics
in my mind, you in a few miserly words
dashed it hard against the text books
of you precious training.
What a gift you gave me!
I woke up…..
and now I get up to speak my
courageous, fire-filled, passionate mind.
No more paying your mortgage, mate.
I am so blessed.
I have such joy,
that I have often missed
it dancing through my life.
My life in the glorious world
of Voices blows my mind….
the stuff which gives us Life
and which brings us death…..
all in the vibrations, colours
and laughter of our souls in sounds.
I am richly blessed in this, my work.
Time flying by
with never a thought
to whether we can keep up,
or stumble and fall
and never in a million years
would it come to check our wounds…
clock’s arms rolls around,
cobwebs go on growing and greying
and I sit here praying
and all the world can do is go on buying
selling, under the table, trading the
good the bad and the ugly.
I can’t look, for I owe YOU and more
a few words, a smile, a breath …..
How could I not?
How could I be drawn into mediocrity
which draws our blood from veins which
already weep from the mundane?
No…. I make space here ~ now ~ Life Sings.
Friends meet via telestial means as if it’s all
that can be given. Human beings morph
into automatons and we wonder why
the world is about to go PUFF…….
I have a small, shining stone
in my slightly off-centre pocket.
Like my pocket, it too is off-centre;
it wonders what the approaching
‘Grand Cross’ will bring.
I whisper into my little pocket….
“just wait and see. It may not
be as bad as we fear ~
we’re in it together but please, please
don’t leap out and start shouting
when I’m not looking, my little stone!”
Thanks to Jane Adams for the glorious artwork: http://janeadamsart.wordpress.com/2014/01/07/dive-into-yoga/grand-cross-04-15am-gmt-23-april-2014-london/
The pen in my clouded head
has run out of its blue-black ink.
There is nowhere to run to avoid
the redbrick, low bridge now,
so I shall have to crawl upon
my miserable face to find another
way to write the lifescape of this
threatening, arsed up mediocrity
I often find myself the agent of!
The muse visited me for so long
and now, during this struggle along
this flattened field called mind, I find a
riverbed, dried up, despite the torrent
of chaotic sounds and visions going on
around about it. Could there not be more
ink somewhere in this cephalopod brain,
dying to be weaved into words wonderful
or colourful expletives, profane?
Aye! Come again sweetlipped words….
I am your playmate who desires your
slipstream of wildness to wow me now!