Who are you?
What is your sound/vision?
What guides your call?
Deep gulps of morning coffee
Flickering sounds
An empty wall
With little splash marks
Years of service gone by.
This pen fades
The more I write,
Like fallen leaves
Into enrichened soil
Rhythms have lost my voice
Telling me of better days.
One
Oneness
The Way
A single heart
Forest’s path is empty
Echo is just you
Thoughts are all your own
Beyond reason.. sure
And in good nature, hopefully.
One
Sun
Moon
Earth
One
One
Has distant friends
And one multiplied by anything
Becomes anything
One has its beginning
A small seed
A drop of rain
A heart beat
A tongue
One’s voice falls silent
One’s sight grows distant
One’s touch is careful
One’s feelings are forever lost
In a sea of comfort in one’s own
So one grows tired
This single heart
So one’s thought may stop
Even just for a divine pause
To find one’s way
Again
One
What is the real reason for my inner voice?
Is this ego?
Have I whispered so loudly
To all Grandfather trees
That my echo and sensations
Are no longer my own?
Has my inner bird
Whistled alone
In surrounding scenes of chaos,
And called home
Mother Hen
Whom I sit under this great canopy with?;
Oaks and Elms and Maples.
Does my voice match my vision?
Do I see sky blues,
And earthy browns,
With forest greens all around?
Or have I become muddled
Lack of colour:
Grays, black, and cement.
One cannot sway the Universe
Simply with words
This merely annoys those who must hear
And frustrates those who cannot speak.
One can speak to hear one’s voice,
Or speak-up to be a voice,
But to think a voice
Can change the world
Must take a lot of idle convincing.
What is my voice?
How does it come from within
But it is not of myself?
Would I have been wrong
To have heard it?
I bring my soul to the earth
Both by sitting upon it
By feeling it within my toes
And by listening to it
Sweet songs of assumed innocence.
But then if I stay
How long do my thoughts stray
What ebbs and flows within?
Can I settle down
Upon a dear limb
And become like green foliage?
Setting sun
Reminds me of home
So my home is where I shall roam
And here I slip back
Into my routine
Soul, still here,
Accompanying me.
This cold landscape bellows,
Blowing endlessly
With a high pitched wallow
And I am not a voice in it.
No animated gust of white dust,
No longing wave of seed heads bobbing,
No tall tree, naked and exposed
Arms wide open
Awaiting for the sun.
This cold landscape bellows,
And I sit in isolation
Completely enveloped
By a drawn sensation.
Dampness smouldering the fire
As snow melts to ice I sit upon,
And the red tinge of frozen willows
Keeps this glowing fire
I have not set.
I am drained of life
Though calming gray Moon
Shines full into my vision.
My mornings wake
With such vast opportunity
Yet I slouch my way
Into an odyssey;
Blurring noises
From Nature’s highway
Busy outside my open window.
This tea alerts me
It brings my senses
Towards the front of my tongue
So that I can find my voice
Rescued from the deep depths
Of a tortuous night.
And here, upon my tongue
A caress felt within my memory
Time spent in my youth
Unabided,
For Spring spirit in Summer Sun
Reaches no Plymouth too soon,
And this warm milk and honey
Resting on my lips
Shall be enveloped by
Moon and by Sun.
Cold pangs of my inner heart
Have wildly swung amidst this wind
Clanging loudly against
Metallic edges of home
Where doors have been hung.
To aid my truth voice
In a song of no-mans-land,
I’ve wrapped my steel blades
In a leather sheath
To keep my quivering hand
From starting in a blur.
But pangs in message
– A lonesome call beyond forest’s wild –
Share what can never be drafted,
For a dove doth always take flight
Though eye’s embrace
Captures feverishly each beating wing
Against late mornings glow.
There doth echo
Memory once laid
And dreams yet played
For in a forgotten breath
A clang, a pang,
A caress of death
Deeply embraced
Amidst this inner heart.
National Banks printed more money
To give to their friends
That was backed by the Government
Who guaranteed the debt
Of a failing business
A shifting economy.
So the democratic government
With capitalistic inclinations
Overruled the citizens voice
And saved bloated businesses
From serving their own ruin.
And this made the citizens happy
They all sang out: “We’re saved.”
And they celebrated in the streets
With hate slogans of peace
And angry marches of non-violence
And fear deeply in their hearts.
(part X)