Reflecting heaven’s light
captured by stillness in breath
obscuring the shallow beneath
stones settle buried at rest
Shallow mirror
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Restoration
It’s the things that aren’t said that hurt the most.
I can hear the tower clock chime from my pillow
It is the only constant I hear.
But even this clock;
I envy the care and attention
it receives for its restoration.
I hope to have its constancy at heart.
Spiritus Sanctus:
‘O Holy Spirit, as the sun is full of light, the ocean full of water,
Heaven full of glory, so may my heart be full of thee.’
Eyes of the hearth
Image
Heavenly bodies
Vast and free twirling round
gazing down on a breadth of seas
For ancients’ sake boulders quake
and spread their plume and fume
in pillows of magnetic blue.
All this time we knew you
a firm sphere of life
revolution all around you
and yet it is not all
who tremble as you shake,
lie in your wake.
We’re one and all reliant on
the One source.
These heavenly bodies
are not far from it.
Constancy in our distance,
we stay our path, in safety.
No freedom flier
but remain, obey, rely.
One solstice past
orbits merged
an emergency flight path.
We cannot wish to undo
or change our place
for all order that surrounds
and lies floating in chaotic wait
will unleash their quiet laden weight.
Best to gaze on star’s light from afar.
Season of singing
I love all the unseen things about you
I wait for them to make themselves known
a word, a look, a gesture, a smile
a gift of Love – one treasure I own.
When I stand before the body, in the flesh
I am confused. It’s You that I miss.
I respond in words I don’t understand
I lose part of myself in this.
Waiting for the unseen,
the centre of our being
to come forward again
In the Spring.
When you play, your work, your dream
it is there – the unseen
making music in my ears
as sweet as a song of songs.
Sweet fruit. Spring flush
Eat, dear friends, and drink your fill of love¹
The days were Made for this.
The season of singing has come.²
Love stronger than death
burns like a Mighty fire
Many waters cannot quench
Nor rivers sweep it away.³
By day the Lord directs his love,
at night his song is with me—
a prayer to the God of my life. –Psalm 42:8
Image source: ‘Looking through the trees to the stream’ by John Groves
Spectre night light
Image
Timbre of the Heart
A rare bird indeed
we are exotic, an ancient lineage
migrated south.
We are two much, one to know another
protect, preserve our own our offspring,
territorial ties that wound
What we love, what is it?
The glorious plumage?
A splendour to behold
The sound of our call, cool, titillating talk?
are but echoes in the sky.
No, much more than that.
The most glorious sound to adore
is the heart beating in our chests
Listen, my friend, keenly –
look with those two deep oceans you keep.
See – every word, move, motion,
every flash in the eye, affection
reveals the timbre of the heart.
Buried treasure
I stumbled across this buried treasure
Learned the secrets from a book
Extraordinary insight to the lowly and great
How others learned the secret, I do not know
Life must be lived in the will, not emotions
At birth the gift of freedom of will
The central citadel of man’s being
He stands knocking on the door of the human heart
But the latch of the door is on the inside
This is the entering-in
The Year of the Nottingham
Image
The lights confuse us in the night
Tracking right to left and left to right
Steady beacon constant on the bow
Torch flashing sail; waves on metal plough
All eyes front, gazing at the steady stream
Of fishermen, leisure yachts passing near abeam
Pitch black warrior of steel, cruising twenty knots
Through a minefield of coral reef and sandy spots
In the dead of night watch, that steady light ahead
Lost our nerve, our confidence, woke captain from his bed
Stop all engines, reassess, ignore the fuming Nav
No saving face, or gold of rank, sleeping sailors we have
Keep them safe, secure in racks dreaming of their home
On the bridge the young watchkeeper has eyes like radar dome
It was the year I did execute the perfect come ’round
Aft of the Nottingham, the day before it ran aground
Soundings
Barstools, beers and lonely cheers
Sideways glances, sound and fears
Top of the loft, corner of the street
Just dropping off, by chance again we meet
Perched high above on a leather bus seat
Looking down on you as sun and horizon meet
Living through pictures on your wall
Passing on paper cranes, love and all
Resonating strings and sings around
Searching for words unspoken sound
Fathom feeling depths unknown
Silence falls like shell shock tone
Rivers of lyrical, satirical rhymes
Flood down the mount of eternal time
A single vase of living water, blooms
Tapped from the source in our living rooms
