Byzantine Bindings

Saturday, 29 March 2014

The day was coming when things would
no longer be the same and he would have to
go the way of all flesh
and be judged by
the god he no
longer believed
in but who none
the less belived in him

i can see why 
this spring morning
as the green fire of life powers buds into life
that god would become incarnate
to experience death
to live under the threat of it
all through life
it must have been outside experience
like it is for me 
not to know the unborness
except after many years of struggle 
experiencing interbeing
oneness in the constant flowing stillness of life’s 
fragmentary whole
we meet eye to eye
on the way to the allotted place
this i have made up:
unless ye become as a small 
silent thing
listening not hearing
seeing not looking 
ye shall not experience the
immensity of it all.

Friday, 28 March 2014

Following the rabbit

down the hole to its logical conclusion
that we all end up 
wanting to be smaller or taller
but things are the way they are 
unless you create a world in which they
are different...

be careful what you wish for!

Friday, 21 March 2014

Spring Equinox (Prequel)

The dangers of isolation are many
self-delusion being the foremost
there is a sense in which the
security which comes with control
stultifies and undermines
the very freedom to become
sought in the first place
and yet
there is a clear mandate
in the solitude, silence, prayer mantra

Lao Tzu had it: what's a chap to do?
said keep quiet and they keep falling over the edge;
speak and they will misunderstand

perhaps be clear that
although lying just off shore
seemingly self-contained
the need to connect
enter the ring as it were
is fundamental
to mental hygiene
without it I die on the
self constructed island
wondering why no one came
leaving crumb or drink
nor asking after me

at least
provides opportunities

Monday, 10 March 2014


such a long time and rest from it
it used to be lifeblood
compost roughage for the soul
it used to flow through
the then other gods came
more organised
book of hours

there once were cinquains:

something other
dream like half memory
stored where, accessed how, intention what?

what a pity
just another baby
longing for its earthly mother

language forming
clumsily explaining
everything is what you make it

early morning
soaking up the sunshine
croaking spawning in the water

and then 50 words would just flow:

nature getting on with it
unquestioning loyalty 
blind indifference seeing as other 
injunction to ameliorate 
sow seed injudiciously
smear and spawn in the park
frenzied orgiastic ritual breaks
into polite spring sunshine sunny sunday
homecoming from 
boys brigade
grasping slime of memory’s 
past and future
dreams and promises

and a closer look would reveal the close to 500 waiting in the wings:

winter turned to spring and hearts eased into the sunny sunday morning walk around the park. No more than a stroll after alo paratha yoghurt and masala chai with custard creams and tea for afters. East meets West. There is a sort of acknowledgement tacit, implicit, passive aggressive, that communication becomes more likely when the mind is focused away from sectarian boundaries and thrown together in the physicality of community based interventions. Car boots on the fringe, artist’s cafe’s and homeless climbing walls. Broken boundaries lay side by side with tired ideologies food for thought becomes the compost of the next generation.
Then suddenly there they were. Causing us to turn aside from the regularity of arboreal circuits they were there frogs upon frogs upon frogs gloopy coagulations of spawn; transparent black-eyed jelly beans. We thought the noise was a lawn mower or a distant helicopter - I say we…
Who knows.
Perhaps the magic was different for you.
Something happened
though where it is now
I couldn’t say
and wonder why would I want to -
Perhaps a need in future time
to re-collect
gathering up fragments of a life
in apparently disparate threads
misunderstood - certainly
connected - somehow
truth to tell I am unable to say with any degree of certainty what happened
as to it’s meaning
there is a wrongness living in the head
but  my fingers retain the feel of life in that slime - so called
and life was alive in that moment - over fifty years ago
the last time I collected it
and stored it
in a saucer in a shoe box with a cellophane window cut out to observe
and they grew and pinged against the lid
until due to lack of care and water they stopped pinging
death entered my world
by my own selfish careless hand
and as the spawn slipped through my fingers
yesterday, yesteryears guilt weighed heavily fresh

some things when done cannot be undone
they are woven into the tapestry of our lives

perhaps the trick is to live with them and learn from them
I wish I knew

but on these gifted rare days of season change and threshold crossing
over and again
there is offered a glimpse of the whole picture
landscape laid bare
with great ancient trees, seasonal flowers, edible plants, deep roots
and yes of course the weeds
the compost
the smelly
without which
there would be no smelly flowers.

he who walks in the garden in the cool of the day finds himself…

Monday, 3 March 2014

Landscaping the Soul

Being of service.

Awareness of the question
turning it over and over 
reveals a seeing 
of old ways
as if 
for the
first time.

What knowledge do you seek?