At This Stilled Moment

Plucked just today from the hillside, 
the daisy sits beautifully in a vibrant red watering can.
Observe the daisy's gentleness as witnessed through its petals.

Looking out, surely the daisy must feel the view, 

the pulse of the breeze, cozying up to the backdrop of red.
Red, namely the hottest of the warmest of colours.

It isn't lonely, the daisy, sitting solitarily,
independent within this stilled, colourful moment.

Silently it conjures up an endearing range of emotions.

Relax.

Take note the daisy, it is gloriously alive,

even though quite recently, its roots were severed.

Under The Damp Cement Arches

the crow knows

exactly where to sit

on the yellow bench

the wave

exactly where to break

the jaw that will not

unclench

is fastened perfectly

to the writer's skull

future generations

come like clockwork

under the damp

cement arches

to include themselves

in this well-recorded

afternoon


– Leonard Cohen

In Silence

You perched upon a pillar of wood

while the warm shawl of the sun

blanketed your surroundings.

In silence you felt at one

with Mother Nature, your body

flowering outward to greet her.

You are but a common snail, lost

within the light of the garden, hoping

to seek refuge beneath the shade of a rose.

I remember you within the garden.

Momentary Things

On this sluggish

hot summer day

lethargy thickens

and a deadened will

idly lies, ingrown

like a second skin.

As nostalgia howls

you begin to question

everything that exists

beneath the surface

of momentary things.

Your smile strains

under the weight

of such questioning

and your will wants

only to predict of a more

productive tomorrow.

Still deep in thought, 
you are startled, glancing up,

you answer a reassuring "Yes"
to your kids enquiring if you'd
like to partake in a game of "Life".

The time you had just deemed
too inauspicious, willingly blazes on,
while the game of "Life" becomes
a fond remembrance, that hovers
in the mind at days end,

beneath the light of the moon.

Soul Aflame

Something wonderfully important

a mother holds dear, full of compassion and love.

She smiles to herself and whispers,

"Something important I'll soon bear."

Eyes alive, soul aflame

in its flowering, at a depth

unto which another body

lies tethered, corded, but safe.

An island within an island,

each floating, yet anchored 

one to the energy of the other

in an act of great communion.

They make their acquaintance

coming to each other as a gift.

Souls cradled, soothed to hearts lullaby,

delicately held within life's mystery.

Revved up vocabularies

try to place this ultra sound image,

as though seen through moonlight,

infant traces of life held in a fertile landscape.

Something In Me Yearns To Win

Follow the path of your own sacred narrative, breathe its privileged culture, live it like a truth, while constantly enlightening it with well cultivated graces. 

Joan of Arc

Now the flames they followed Joan of Arc

as she came riding through the dark;

no moon to keep her armour bright,

no man to get her through this very smoky night.

She said, "I'm tired of the war,

I want the kind of work I had before,

a wedding dress or something white

to wear upon my swollen appetite"

Well, I'm glad to hear you talk this way,

you know I've watched you riding every day

and something in me yearns to win

such a cold and lonesome heroine.

"And who are you?" she sternly spoke

to the one beneath the smoke.

"Why, I'm fire," he replied,

"And I love your solitude, I love your pride…"

– Leonard Cohen

. . . . .

Don't mistake and therefore limit your perceptions of truth, reality and goodness because of a fear of new ideas and perspectives. Such fear affects ones education, spirituality and even ones politics. Never be afraid to question. In questioning we learn to comprehend what is real and true. The capacity to learn exists in the soul. Walk the path with love, reverence and a steady pace. Fear not, the light will dawn and continuously shine with an increased clarity.

Ring The Bell

Rose of all Roses, Rose of all the World!

You, too, have come where the dim tides are hurled

Upon the wharves of sorrow, and heard ring

The bell that calls us on; the sweet far thing.

– William Butler Yeats

A White Light Sublime

Ah, to be held in that other clock’s time

where seconds tock in an unfamiliar tick

and ones gaze is held in a white light sublime

where minutes are shattered while time joyously clicks

and one rushes to take pause in the poetic rhyme

where hours pulse into a narrative so quick

Ah yes, to be held in that other clock’s time.

Oh, what I wish I could remember when the mind is stretched to where the body isn’t.

In The Name Of Something New

from Coming Back to You 

Even in your arms

I know 
I'll never get it right 


Even when you bend to give me 


Comfort in the night 


I've got to have your word on this 


Or none of it is true 


And all I've said was just instead of 


Coming back to you

– Leonard Cohen

All That's In-Between

Leonard Cohen amends everyday life

into harmonized text of gold.

Every Pebble

Every pebble dreams of itself

Every leaf has a scheme

The sun is by desire bound

to travel down a beam

Defeated still I cannot yield

my heart to blessed peace

because I dream that there are chains

I dream there is release

I told this to the prisoner

who killed the man I hate

I told it to the miner

who dug up my golden plate

Therefore do I live in hell

For dreaming that hell is

the distance that I dare to put

between my hand and his

I dreamed my body yesternight

I dreamed the universe

I dreamed I dreamed a thousand years

in order to rehearse

the seven days of wonderment

when, drawn from the mist

I was clothed in nakedness

and suffered to exist

I dreamed that I was given song

to be my early proof

that my dwelling place with you

has neither ground nor roof

nor windows to look out of, Lord,

nor mirrors to look in

nor singing to be out of it

nor dying to begin

O child this is your human dream

this is your human sleep

and do not strive so hard to climb

from what is sound and deep

I love the dream that you've begun

beneath my evergreen

I love the pebble and the sun

and all that's in-between

And for this conversation

in the early morning light

I offer up these shabby days

that fray before your sight

Nor can I know how many more

will pass ere I'm unstrung

and all that left this song you placed

upon your creature's tongue.

– Leonard Cohen

A Time To Plant, A Time To Reap

Soul receives from soul that knowledge, 

therefore not by book nor from tongue.

If knowledge of mysteries come after emptiness of mind, 

that is illumination of heart.

– Rumi

As I climbed each individual stair towards the peak of my own curiosity, I took refuge at my window and discovered that one window is enough for me to believe that to every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.

Turn! Turn! Turn!

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)

There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)

And a time to every purpose, under Heaven

A time to be born, a time to die

A time to plant, a time to reap

A time to kill, a time to heal

A time to laugh, a time to weep

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)

There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)

And a time to every purpose, under Heaven

A time to build up,a time to break down

A time to dance, a time to mourn

A time to cast away stones, a time to gather stones together

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)

There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)

And a time to every purpose, under Heaven

A time of love, a time of hate

A time of war, a time of peace

A time you may embrace, a time to refrain from embracing

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)

There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)

And a time to every purpose, under Heaven

A time to gain, a time to lose

A time to rend, a time to sew

A time for love, a time for hate

A time for peace, I swear it's not too late.

– as sung by the Byrds

. 

In Joy or Sorrow

We rely upon the poets, the philosophers and the playwrights to articulate what most of us can only feel, in joy or sorrow. They illuminate the thoughts for which we only grope. They give us the strength and balm we cannot find in ourselves. Whenever I find my courage wavering I rush to them. They give me the wisdom of acceptance, the will and resilience to push on.

– Helen Hayes

Pure Passion

Held in the midst of times’ momentary hiccup, skin flushes then rejoices with an honourable language of its own intent and purpose. Bodies steeped in the wisdom of exactly what the silence of the moment calls for. Witnessed amid the windows of the soul, all fired up in the same rate of exchange, solely imparting hegemony one to the other, with pure passion and an absolute surrender.

The Embrace
When you stumble suddenly

into his full embrace,

he hides away so not to see

his creature face to face.

Your yourself are hidden too

with all your sins of state;

there is no king to pardon you;

his mercy is more intimate

He does not stand before you,

he does not dwell within;

this passion has no point of view,

it is the heart of everything.

There is no hill to see this from.

You share one body now

with the serpent you forbid,

and with the dove that you allow.

The imitations of his love

he suffers patiently,

until you can be born with him

some hopeless night in Galilee;

until you lose your pride in him,

until your faith objective fails,

until you stretch your arms so wide

you do not need these Roman nails.

Idolators on every side,

they make an object of the Lord.

They hang him on a cross so high

that you must ever move toward.

They bid you cast the world aside

and hurl your prayers at him.

Then the idol-makers dance all night

upon your suffering.

But when you rise from his embrace

I trust you will be strong and free

and tell no tales about his face,

and praise Creation joyously.

– Leonard Cohen