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Saturday, 26 September 2015

Part of the 500

Nothing sticks really except the sticky bits, toffee paper golden and waxed.
Not so much that it doesn't stick, lots of it sticks but so little of it grows and that's the problem.
What's the problem?
It doesn't grow.
What doesn't grow?
That which comes on the wind.
That which is gifted to you?
Yes, that which is gifted to me.
How is it nurtured and encouraged, how do you tend it and what are your expectations of it?
Perhaps I hadn't thought that way, as if those things were possible. Perhaps I thought the gift came whole and ready made, honed and complete not to be picked and poked with. Something complete beautiful and whole.
What else is like that, in no need of shaping and nurture?
Nothing of which I know except that which grows wild and that which arises like a cloud billowing and fading in the clear blue sky.
That is so.

Monday, 21 September 2015

50 Words

river of prayer
washes down to the sea
endless ebb and flow
some foam
washes up again
catches us unaware
on that strange shoreline
covers our feet
surprised
we laugh and let out gaps of delight
we are caught for a second and are
we are reenchanted by childhood memories

Thursday, 17 September 2015

50 words

Worrying does nothing
keeps me in the future or past
tied to a burning stake
locked into suffering

Wondering now about the pain
and everyone
the dishonesty of it

Refusing to share
admission
And our children's children
will see our folly
asking
why did they not see and speak out?