Seeing

Sometimes I open my eyes
and realise only then
that they were shut before.
Sometimes I see things
that were always there
and find
I never knew them
as they really are.
Sometimes my world
takes me by surprise
and though I would rather
not be blind at all,
I am thrilled
when sight surprises me
again.

Everything is Connected

As notes hang,
knitting music
in tentative legatos,
so do we,
paper chain people,
hand in hand,
stand.
Strung between history
and eternity,
we are dew drops,
beading the web of life.


(With thanks to Daniel Barenboim for helping to clarify this thought!)

Blackbird (3)

A blackbird sings pearls
over diamond frost.
The world is transformed
to a treasure chest
and everything sparkles
ice-cold in the night-light dark.
Eye lashes, decked with dew,
halo my sight with veins of gold
as the blackbird sings pearls
over diamond frost.

Paradise

Perfect love
with nothing to fear.
The joys of searching
and no clouds of doubt.
Cities like jewels,
crystal clear,
trees brilliant with birdsong,
spread to shade
conversations lifetimes long,
and no misunderstandings.
Meditations long and deep
and no spiral to despair.
This is where
Divinity dwells
and we see
not darkly
through muddled minds
or tears
or fears
but everything
is absolutely,
perfectly
clear.

The stars are coming out

The stars are coming out.
I feel them piercing the empty space
of my mind.
I cannot lift my head,
not yet,
from the sand,
but on the smooth surface of the sea,
I see
reflected diamonds.
Hush – the waves are whispering their secrets now
and I
can lie,
my ear to their shore
and whisper mine to them.
In my midnight blue,
the stars are coming out.
I feel them piercing the empty space
of my mind.

Dreams.

A prayer.

In the Temple of my mind,
Dreams rise like incense
to a leering divinity
who squats, uninvited,
comfortable.
Songs,
harsh and sleep-cracked,
mock their own becoming,
turn the grinning god
in writhing delight
and cover me in shame.
Let my songs run pure
like clear springs,
wash my nightmares
clean
to dream of truth and beauty.
Sanctify the Temple of my mind.

Winter Moon

Full moon hangs in translucent sky
over frosted cars and cold-petrified trees.
Fat and blooming,
smiles at new, night-wrapped morning,
tugs at the tides of sleeping minds.
Silvering frost-feathers,
lacing the cold with diamonds,
insinuates lungs on fogged breath,
sowing friendly chill and reaping shivers.
She is queen of the solstice,
wrapping the world in a luminous embrace.

Night Fighting

This is the night,
shoving my body aside,
mainlining my brain
with thoughts and fears
best left til morning.
This is the night,
denying soft, swaddling clothes,
pummelling me with dark fists
that offer no return,
and nothing to wrestle but my self.
This is the night ,
the clarity of not yet morning
when fog is lifted from my dream-logged mind
and I am startled to wakeful watching
by scuttling scenes of what might be,
what could have been.
This is the night
turned hard.
No black-bandaged softness,
no nestling in snuggeries here.
This is the night
and me,
the two of us
tug-o-warring sleep.

(With thanks again to Dylan Thomas!)